The Prisoner of Memory
by Astridhe
Summary: Thraele is a drow with no past. Struggling to regain her memories and reunite her shattered mind, she is joined by a few unusual allies as she is swept up into the delicate dance of secrets that rules the City of Spiders and beyond. Faced with powerful foes, she finds herself confronting a question that haunts her dreams: Who was she?
1. The Death of Deu'ra

**Author's Note:** This just kind of happened. For all those people who wondered what happened to certain characters such as the charming half-orc. This is set after the events of Knife in the Dark. Reading that story is not necessary for this one.

* * *

Sometimes, she dreamed.

 _Metal clattered harshly against stone beside her head as she fought to keep the world in focus. There was a certain, special kind of tired that came from fighting, so tired that it was easier to stop and take the beating than keep moving around and swinging. "Up," a male voice rough with the same exhaustion said. It wasn't exactly a command, but it was no suggestion either. He would have hounded her to the end of the world if he thought it would make her better. She hated him for it sometimes._

 _She let her fingers close around the sword on the floor next to her. It was a blade forged without sharp edges but maintaining the shape, a dull training blade chalked up so that if she drew it across his body or left a stab mark, it would show. One could kill with it, but it required a little more work. Not that she intended to kill him. His training was never gentle, but it was far preferable to her aunt's, who was a bitter woman on her best of days and such days were few and far between._

 _She forced herself up despite the screaming of her overworked muscles. She'd been on her feet for two days, catering to the whims of the Matron Mother without respite._

 _Dark, onyx eyes followed her as she got up. There was something almost foreign about his square face, though there was not a drop of human or anything else in his blood to anyone's knowledge. His white hair was cut short, just long enough to fall across his forehead, standing out in stark contrast to his ebony skin. Beads of sweat were forming on his brow as he watched her with narrowed eyes, waiting for the next movement. He wasn't a big man, but he was built powerfully and he had centuries of experience on her. She didn't flatter herself and pretend she posed much of a challenge. What she was, however, was aggravating. She refused to sit still, even at her most exhausted. He'd spent the past half hour chasing her around the training gym._

 _"You are a pain in the ass," he said, something like amusement flickering briefly in his features._

 _"I'm counting on that," she panted out_. _"Where are they sending me? I know you know."_

 _"Menzoberranzan. To learn, outside of the reach of the others. The Matron wants a new spymistress. I guess she sees more in you than she saw in your mother."_

 _She shrugged. "Mother will be pleased." She wasn't pleased. It meant leaving her home again. Besides, the word 'mother' came dryly to her mouth. The woman who had given birth to her was no mother…_

The world came rushing back to her when she felt the flicker. Her sword was in her hand, though she didn't recall drawing it. Everything was always fragmented, but now there was a weakness in the walls. It was her chance. She might never have another. She summoned up all of her will and tried to break the compulsion that had dominated every fiber of her being for what felt like aeons. Her steps came slowly, agonizingly slowly, but they were under her own power. The puppet's strings had been cut and she was a puppet no longer. She advanced on Deu'ra. The creature's back was to her as it focused wholly on the three intruders who had just burst through the door, hurling shards of ice into their midst like the powerful sorcerer it was. She could feel it stretching its will, dominating their warrior. But it was spreading itself too thin to successfully maintain control of her.

The illithid stood over six feet tall, with grey-pink skin and four writhing tentacles coming down from its octopus-like head. Deu'ra's white eyes were narrowed with concentration as they focused on the group. She could see the group of adventurers staggering now, struggling to fight the psionic attacks. The big warrior turned on his companions, greatsword at the ready. Another victim of the powerful Deu'ra. She might have felt pity if she hadn't been preoccupied by a hatred that immolated what was left of her soul, her mind. It was a hatred so intense that her body could barely contain it, focused solely on the illithid. She did not remember her life before, her identity, her name, but she remembered that Deu'ra had taken all of that away from her and left only ruins. Her hands trembled violently under the force of the hate as she advanced. She had hated it for what felt like lifetimes, defending it against all of its enemies even as she hoped beyond hope that some blade would find her heart and bring a merciful end to her wretched existence.

Something had answered her prayers far beyond her wildest dreams…the shattered remnants of her that could still find the imagination to dream, that was.

How long had she been at its beck and call? So long it had taken her obedience for granted. Deu'ra must have sensed her approach, but the virulent rage was so normal for her that it didn't bat an eye.

 _Kill_ , the order came from the creature as it leveled a long finger at the adventurers struggling to subdue their warrior without harming them. She hadn't even looked at them long enough to determine who they were, what they were. She didn't care. They had given her the opportunity to do what she had fantasized about for time immeasurable.

For the first time, she obeyed with relish. Just not against the target the creature was hoping for. She plunged the sword into Deu'ra's back, the screech of the creature felt as much as heard. It was a wail of agony. The creature tried to round on her, but she twisted the sword with both hands, tearing the wound open. Nothing in the world had ever been so satisfying. She would remember Deu'ra's dying screams forever. It was a memory to be treasured, to be reveled in. She sawed with the blade as black blood rushed over her dark hands, struggling to cut through Deu'ra's spine as the creature struggled. Its tentacles grabbed for her face, but she tilted her head back to avoid the fate of so many and ripped the blade out.

The creature sank to the floor. She could feel it dying, feel the last of its control fading. She almost crumpled then as relief overwhelmed her. For the first time that she could remember, she was free even as she felt like she was dying. She heard people rushing over to her, but she didn't care. Because, at that moment, the truth hit her.

Deu'ra was dead. She ripped the sword out of its body and hacked at its still form until pieces came off, until her arm was tired and heavy. She might have been screaming at it—she couldn't tell if the sound was inside her head or out of it.

Harsh, choking sobs wracked her slender frame and she felt hot tears start to drip down her ebony cheeks. She could taste the salt on her lips. It felt divine, to be without that crushing presence, to be able to think freely, to move under her own power. How had she lived so long never knowing this joy? Hands grabbed at her armor, pulling her up and away. She dropped her sword and looked up into yellow eyes. The face that looked back at her was half drow and half orc, a man with a heavy brow and a jutting jaw with small tusks, but his skin was dark like midnight—like her own, she realized when she looked down at her hands—and his hair was the color of salt and steel.

"Thank you," he said. He was the fighter, his heavy armor dull in the absent light. He had dropped his sword and left his two companions be. "Who are you?"

She struggled to find words among the shattered remnants of her mind. Who was she? Did the pieces of her ever have a name? How long had it been since she last spoke? Her voice came out raw and weak from lack of use. "We are thrall," she whispered.

He helped her up, her limbs shaking and shuddering. She wasn't certain if they would give out on her or not, but his constant support was helpful. "My name is Malagos," he said. "Come, let's have Alassëa take a look at you."

He led her over to his two companions. One was a small and surly looking deep gnome who was reloading his crossbow and looking around. He had a bandoleer of vials of poison looped around his chest over deep dragon's scale armor. "Are we sure there's not more?" the svirfneblin asked. He was eyeing her with something between gratitude and suspicion.

"This isn't an enclave, Nek," the woman with them said softly. Her skin was alabaster from lack of sunlight and dark hair framed her undeniably elven face. "And from what I understand, mind flayers are generally solitary creatures except for their slaves and thralls."

The former thrall was too tired now to heed any of the distrust she felt as the stranger approached her. Instead, she just sank down to the floor the moment Malagos's grip on her ease. She didn't try to resist the soft hand that touched her forehead and sent warmth coursing through her veins. In a distant, dull way, she knew that it was a healing spell. "There are no more," she said in her quiet, halting way. "The monster worked alone."

"I'm Alassëa. What's your name?" the elf asked her gently.

"We are thrall," she whispered again. That was all she could remember. Deu'ra had called her nothing else and she had no mementos of her time before…if she had ever been anything else. The fragments she lived sometimes were dreams at best.

"Never thought I'd feel this bad for a drow," the deep gnome said. "Come on, let's see what this critter had stashed away. A lot of coin always does a body good. Plus, I'm going to need more enchanted bolts. Those umber hulks didn't go down easy, princess. And we'll need to keep the head—Bruthwol will want proof that it's dead."

"I know," Alassëa said. She offered their new friend a small smile. "We need something to call you. How about Thraele? It's a drow name, and it sounds close to what you think you are. Would that work?"

"Thraele," she said, tasting the word. It sounded different. It sounded like freedom. "Yes." She paused, then continued in her deliberate, slow way, "This is what we are? Drow?"

The elf looked dismayed despite the fact that she was dealing with a blood enemy. "You don't even remember that?"

"We should probably be grateful to squid-face here," Nek said, kicking the mind flayer's corpse. He had already given it a pat down and taken a few enchanted rings of defense off the creature's long fingers. "Because otherwise she'd be sticking a knife in your face so fast you couldn't blink, princess. They're called mind flayers for a reason. Bet she doesn't remember a thing. Take a look at these for me."

"She should come with us. We know she can fight," Malagos said as Alassëa passed her hand over the rings to identify the magic contained within them. He looked at the drowess. "Do you want to leave here, Thraele?"

She felt a little tremor of fear and excitement mingled together. She knew in the abstract that there were places beyond Deu'ra's tower, but she could not recall ever having been there. It was a whole new world opening up to her. "Yes," she said thickly, feeling those tears build again. "Yes, this we would like."

"Why do you say 'we'?" Alassëa said curiously.

Thraele wiped away her tears. "Because there are many pieces in our head," she said.

The elf made a soft noise of comfort and held out a handkerchief to the drowess. "Here," she said. "You're more than welcome to come with us, Thraele. Do you have things to collect?"

"Some clothes," she said as she picked herself up off the floor. It felt surreal to be leaving. She picked up her sword and sheathed it. It wasn't really hers, but something that had appeared in her room when Deu'ra decided that she would make a good bodyguard. However, she was keeping it now. It was duergar-made, with their sharp, angular designs to its hilt. It was plain and simple, but well-used. She had been a servant defending Deu'ra for longer than she could really recall. It was all a tangle of shattered pieces in her head.

"I'll help you get those," Alassëa said gently. "Malagos, Nek, I trust you two can loot the place without me?"

"Way ahead of you, princess," Nek said, already heading into Deu'ra's study with Malagos on his heels. "You'll hear us shouting if something goes wrong. Be careful with the drow."

Thraele had no intention of harming her new, pale ally, at least for the moment. She wasn't certain that she could trust them, but they had helped her escape from Deu'ra's control. She owed them and she knew she wanted to repay that debt. She led the way down the stairs into a dank, dark area. There were several doors made of iron bars sunk into the stone, but there was only one with sign of a more permanent habitation than Deu'ra's food generally had. It was a cell, devoid of light or warmth or comfort. There was a thin, hard mattress in one corner and a small pile of clothes folded on the floor next to it.

She felt a hand touch her lightly, just between her shoulder-blades, and flinched away. It was the elf trying to be sympathetic, but even good contact was alien after so long without it. "This is everything," she said, picking up the clothes. "This and the armor and the sword."

"Do you have anything from your old life? Any clue as to who you were?" Alassëa asked hopefully.

Thraele looked over at the elf. "We are thrall," she said softly. "If there was an old life, it is gone without a trace."

"You remember nothing?"

The drowess frowned intently, stirring at the shards of herself in the hopes of inspiring another vision like the one she'd had when Deu'ra's attention slipped. There was nothing, but she did still remember what she'd seen just before she killed Deu'ra. "We dreamed of Menzoberranzan," she said. "Perhaps people…sent us towards it, to learn. But we do not remember reaching it."

"We're headed there, after we settle this bounty in Gracklstugh," Alassëa said. She offered the drowess a smile. "We have friends there. I'm sure we can find someone who knows you."

"Why are you doing this?" Thraele asked as she picked up her clothes. "Why help?"

"It's what we do," Alassëa said. She studied her newest companion. Thraele certainly looked unkempt. Her white hair was long and tangled, her amaranthine eyes cagey, her cheeks hollow, and her dark skin smudged with dirt. "You look a little wild, though. When we reach Rockhollow, you can take a bath. I'll have to be disguised when we get close to Gracklstugh and Menzoberranzan, just to warn you. I always am, around drow. Besides you, I guess."

"Why?" Thraele asked, confusion easily readable in her expression.

"Because if I'm not, they'll hurt me," the elf said. To her, it was a clear indication that their new friend's memory loss was genuine. Thraele did look at her with some suspicion, but it was the same kind of guardedness she had looked at Nek and Malagos with. It was nothing compared to the burning hatred that she expected from a drow.

"Not if we kill them," Thraele said.

Alassëa winced. "I really appreciate the sentiment, but you can't just kill people, Thraele."

"We killed the monster," she pointed out.

"We did," the elf acknowledged. "But the rest of the world is not Deu'ra. There are rules. Laws. Come on, let's meet up with the others. You'll learn—or remember, hopefully—as we go."

Thraele nodded and followed her new companion back up into the main room. The svirfneblin and half-orc were back. The gnome was sorting through some of Deu'ra's gems and trinkets while Malagos hacked off the illithid's horrible head and wrapped it up in cloth. "Here," Nek said, tossing a gold amulet set with a polished ruby about the size of a man's thumb to Thraele.

She caught it. A pretty trinket, but she had no use for it. "What do we do with this?" she asked.

"It's your share. We'll sell it in Rockhollow or Gracklstugh," Nek said in a business-like tone. "With that money, we can buy you some proper gear and some food. You look like you've been living off gruel and angsty thoughts for a long, long while."

Malagos chuckled. "Welcome aboard, Thraele," the half-orc said. He had a feeling they wouldn't need to feel pity for their drow companion for very long. There was a definite intensity to those eyes. Once she had her feet underneath her, she would be a force to be reckoned with. Not that she wasn't one already. They had her to thank for a dead mind flayer. Malagos was grateful he hadn't injured his companions, particularly Alassëa.

Nek nodded. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful partnership," the deep gnome said, giving their drow an approving look.

* * *

Thraele looked like a completely different person cleaned up, Alassëa reflected. Rockhollow was not a large town, but it did have a very nice traveler's inn on the outskirts. A few servants had vanished into the baths with their wild drowess and a few hours later she'd emerged looking more than decent. Thraele's white hair had been cut to shoulder length and combed out so there was no hint of tangle. The ragged clothing that she had been wearing underneath her battered armor had been replaced by a deep blue spidersilk shirt and fitted leather pants that tucked into new boots. Her features emerged from the dirt, patrician and lovely. Her hands were now manicured, though they still had callouses from wielding a weapon. Nek had traded the amulet for a set of new armor that was going to be fitted to Thraele, a good investment if she was going to keep adventuring with them. "How do you feel?" Alassëa asked warmly, smiling at the improvement.

"We are better," Thraele said. She plucked at the fabric of her shirt with a small, self-conscious smile. "We must thank Nek."

"He's sweet in his own, kind of mercenary, self-serving way," Alassëa said as she finished folding her own clothes. "Just don't let him know I think so."

"So why is an elf in the depths? Malagos mentioned it was very rare when we asked," the drowess asked, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. She was sharing a room with the elf, an arrangement that would have caused problems with any other drow. Thraele, however, seemed quite genuine in her non-hatred of elves. It was as if that emotion had fixed itself wholly on Deu'ra and all things of that same nature.

"That's…complicated," Alassëa said softly. "I came down here many, many years ago for a friend. I suppose I could have returned to the surface, but…" She hesitated, then shrugged. "I can do so much good here, even if it means wearing a disguise and helping people who would kill me if they knew. It's dangerous, but so are most worthwhile things. Besides, I couldn't abandon Malagos and Nek, and they'd never be welcome on the surface. I'd ask you what your story is, but you don't know."

Thraele lay back on the bed. It was soft and foreign, almost to the point of being uncomfortable, but it was a welcome change. It had taken them three days to reach Rockhollow, three days that she had been mostly silent for. She had stayed firmly at the peripheries and watched, waiting to wake up back to her old life. But the baths, the food, the clothes—all things that she could never recall experiencing before—made her realize that this was no dream. The change was terrifying, but even more than that, liberating. These strangers had made certain she had food and a safer place out in the wilds. Not safe, as nowhere was safe, but safer. Now that they'd made it to civilization, their beneficence wasn't coming to an end. She didn't know what to do with that. She was far more accustomed to being used, but if that was their goal, they were far more subtle about it than Deu'ra had ever been.

"No," she said softly, turning her head to look at Alassëa. "We do not remember. But sometimes, we dream."

"That must be hard," the elf said. "Not knowing who you are."

The former thrall considered this for a moment before saying, "It is as easy as falling."

A knock on the door broke their conversation, followed by Malagos poking his head in. "There are some drow downstairs asking questions about us," he said in a low, urgent voice. "Nek paid the staff not to talk, but there's no guarantee they'll stay quiet forever. You know how persuasive they can be."

Thraele stood up abruptly and brushed past him. Malagos went to grab her, but the drowess slipped his grip effortlessly. "Thraele!" Alassëa called anxiously after her. She went to follow, but Malagos stopped her.

"I'll handle it," the half-orc said reassuringly. "Plus, Nek's downstairs. He'll have her back."

He turned and followed their drow, leaving Alassëa to wait nervously in the room. The cleric was certain that those two would be enough to quell any potiental fight, but that didn't mean that the violence wouldn't have far reaching consequences. Someone had sent these questioning drow, after all. Thraele could unknowingly cause all kinds of problem.

Downstairs, Thraele found herself face to face with the first of her own kind that she had seen. Three males in well-made armor with sharp knives and swords. They looked dangerous, but if there was a flicker of fear in Thraele, she did not feel it. Her eyes narrowed and she stalked forward, chin held high and back rigidly straight. It was a sort of violent pride bordering on sheer arrogance, posturing done out of the echoes of her dreams rather than any decision she made on her own. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?" she demanded.

Her affect and harshly spoken words appeared to actually take them aback. "Mistress, respectfully, we are not intruding on your business," the one with a long scar down his cheek said, straightening up as if dealing with a priestess. For all he knew, he was. "We are looking—"

"For things that are _ours_ ," Thraele snapped. She stepped forward, well into the space of the scarred male to the point where he stepped back. It was a traditional form of intimidation. "Leave, male. You may tell your betters that they are _ours._ "

"And who are you, Mistress?" he said carefully, trying not to elicit a wrathful rebuke. "We represent House Baenre's eldest daughter and to stay us in our duty is to cause affront to Myrineyl Baenre."

"A name that means nothing to us," the former thrall said, glaring at him still. "We are the servant of the Matron. Our business is the slaying of the mind flayer. We have completed that task."

"Which Matron?" he asked cautiously, clearly evaluating this.

"That is not your concern. Leave, male, or we will send you to whence you came in pieces," Thraele said harshly, as certain as the grave in her ability to kill this creature. She had killed many times at the command of Deu'ra, she knew that much. She would give this drow all the consideration she might give to an insect to be crushed if he pushed back. There was a soft click as Nek readied his crossbow and pointed it at the drow. Malagos's hand rested on his sword. The half orc had emerged from the upstairs, ready to fight.

The threat in her words was clear. The male drow bowed in acknowledgement. "Understood, Mistress. But know you have made a powerful enemy today," he said.

"And so have you," Thraele said, lip curling in disdain.

The drow retreated from the inn and everyone relaxed slightly. The buzz of conversation was tense and wondering—showdowns among the drow were rare in Rockhollow. Even rarer was anyone willing to go toe to toe with any member of House Baenre's nobility.

"Brave. Idiotic, but brave," Nek said, coming over. "Myrineyl Baenre is a powerful bitch of a priestess. She's going to remember this if she hears about it."

Thraele smiled with a slight grimness. "Manners maketh the man. Enemies maketh the woman," she said, echoing the whispered dream in her head. A familiar voice, a female voice, must have told her that once.

"Crazy bitch," Nek said with a chuckle that was almost fond. He was starting to really like their drow. Anyone willing to stick it to a priestess of Lloth couldn't be all bad. "You want to take her on, fine. We'll help. But it'd better be worth our while."

"We assume the priestess possesses more than Deu'ra," Thraele said. "If the priestess wishes to push, you are more than welcome to it."

Nek grinned. "If you can pull it off," he said.

"We protect what is ours," Thraele said, looking down at the gnome. "Our allies are ours."

"Like I said, Thraele, you are one crazy bitch," Nek said with a shake of his head. This one was definitely going to be a handful, but the deep gnome was pretty certain she could walk the talk. Still, only time would tell.


	2. The Task at Hand

Thraele walked ahead of the group like a dark specter, footfalls soundless on the stone. They were almost to Gracklstugh, which Nek cited as the explanation for the smell of the smoke of forges that stung her nose. The svirfneblin had been impressed by her stealth skills and had suggested she take point, a show of hesitant trust as much as simple assignment of placement. All of them could see in the dark, but no one else in the group could adhere to the shadows quite as well as her, even Nek. She detected, slowly at first, the orange glow of the city in the distance. The drowess halted accordingly, waiting for her companions to catch up with her. "We see it," she said softly.

"Just wait until you see it up close. You'll never want to leave it," Nek said with a dry sarcasm.

They approached quietly, joining up with the main road leading into Gracklstugh amongst the jostling of caravans and traders. The whole cavern reeked of coal and hot metal as the great infernal forges belched smoke into the cacophonous air, the ringing of hammers and grind of machinery broken up only by the begging and screaming of slaves. Crippled creatures cast to the wayside now begged in the street for survival, but they received no coin and no attention from the stone-faced duergar who tromped down avenues encrusted with a layer of grime and soot deposited over the course of centuries. Its sharply angled architecture stirred something in Thraele, not quite familiarity but not far from it either. She stopped abruptly as they passed through the gate, staring as if hypnotized at the city beyond.

"Rubberneck later," Nek said, prodding her forward with one stubby finger.

She started to walk again. "Thraele, do you know this place?" Malagos asked as he studied her expression. She looked confused, like she wasn't certain what to make of the city.

"No," she said slowly but certainly. "But perhaps we were once in a place such as this."

 _The world you live in is more dangerous than you know…_ a phantom voice whispered in her ear. Thraele straightened her back and squared her jaw. That much was true, she was certain. She did not like the resentment in their eyes when they looked at her. She doubted they would do anything, not while the others were around and not while she was armed, but they were something to be aware of. The chatter of different languages all around was strangely familiar. She didn't consider herself particularly fluent in them anymore, but she understood them with crystal clarity, from the mutterings of deep gnome traders to the heated arguments of duergar slavers to the growls of the hobgoblin taskmasters that prowled the streets looking for new meat to be pressed into service at the great forges.

Alassëa was disguised now that they had neared dangerous areas. The duergar would be all too happy to capture an elf and sell her to the drow or other interested parties. Her current form was a female human. Outlander still, but not nearly as precarious a position. It was also a form familiar to Bruthwol, their current employer. She steered them down the crooked, soot encrusted streets to a tavern called the Red Earth that was packed with adventurers of the Underdark variety. Thraele stood out as the only drow, but about every other race was represented here. The walls were lined with a reddish-brown clay and the floor had a healthy coating of sawdust to prevent people from slipping…while also soaking up the blood from various fights that invariably broke out. It still smelled like acrid smoke, but it was tempered slightly by the smoke of burning Underdark wood from the hearth and the splashes of stale ale from the floor. Thankfully, the nose became accustomed after a while.

"This way," Malagos said, guiding Thraele over to the corner table where Bruthwol presided over various groups of adventurers like a king over his court.

The duergar was ugly even for one of his race, his face mostly comprised of scar tissue and pox marks. His left cheek was half bashed in, probably by a blow from a mace, and his breathing came in loud rasps. His chuckle was like sandpaper across granite. His clothing was all of fine surface fabrics, bright crimson shirt with gold brocaded patterns and soft leather pants tucked into boots polished to a mirror shine. It was an ostentatious display of wealth more than a love for surface fashion. Fabrics like linen and cotton were expensive down in the depths, unlike the wool of rothé and spidersilk—though Thraele instinctively preferred the latter. He stood up when they approached with a grin. "Thought for sure you lot'd be dead. I take it this means Deu'ra is no more."

"We had a little help from our new friend," Malagos said, setting the wrapped head down on the table. "Brought you some proof."

"Oh yeah?" the grey dwarf said, studying Thraele curiously. He motioned for all of them to sit down. They took a seat, save for their dark elf who was eyeing Bruthwol cautiously. "Who's she?"

"Wanderer," the half-orc said. He didn't want to reveal that she was a former thrall, lest Bruthwol cook up some kind of scheme to take advantage of that. "Met up out in the Wilds, made a deal."

"Huh," Bruthwol said, discreetly pulling cloth away to look at the head. He hissed in an involuntary breath, the duergar racial hatred of mindflayers flaring up in the center of his chest. "Ugly son of a bitch. Well, dead is dead and money is money." He slid a pouch of gems across the table to Nek. "I might have another job for you, if you're interested. It's a dangerous one, in Menzoberranzan itself, but with a bona fide drow on your side, you'll be better equipped than the last group."

"Good to know we were your first choice," Nek said dryly. "What's the gig?"

"A concerned citizen that I happen to know is having problems with a particular drow male," Bruthwol said. "They have authorized me to grant a substantial bounty if a certain set of documents is recovered from that particular drow's particular collection."

"And the catch?" Nek said cautiously. He wasn't above working in Menzoberranzan, but in his experience, it was never straightforward. At least Bruthwol was fairly frank about the dangers faced. That was a damn sight better than they could expect from any drow.

"The particular male drow in question cannot be killed," the duergar said. "My concerned friend has something else in store. And I would advise you not look too closely at the documents, either. Secrets are better left secrets in the City of Spiders."

"The payout?" Malagos asked. It sounded difficult, but not impossible.

"10,000 gold and an anonymous favor from my concerned friend," Bruthwol said, chuckling when their eyes went wide. Thraele was the only one unconcerned, mostly because she didn't know what a gold piece was worth. Money was an abstract concept that she had little use for. Nek seemed good with it, so she'd handed hers off to him and waited patiently for him to make armor and other useful things appear. The end result was a perfectly fitted suit of leather armor and a pack of well-fashioned gear.

"I'm in," Malagos said. "And Nek would probably stab his aunt for that much money."

"Or you," Nek said. He grinned when Malagos shot him an answering glare. "But yeah, I'm in. Princess?"

"I suppose," Alassëa said cautiously. "Thraele?"

The drowess considered her options for a long moment. She knew she had her chance now to part ways with the group, but they had been good to her. She owed them her help—favors were something she did understand on an instinctual level. Besides, Menzoberranzan was a city of her people. She had a better chance of finding answers about her past there than she did in Gracklstugh. If she was going, she could have had much worse as far as companions. They were growing on her. "We would like to see the City of Spiders," she said. "Besides, we owe you a debt."

"She always speak in plural?" Bruthwol said, raising grey eyebrow.

"It's a long story, but yes," Nek said.

Bruthwol slid an envelope across the table to them. "Here's what you're going to be looking for. Oh, and there is one more catch."

Alassëa felt her stomach twist unpleasantly. "What?" she asked.

"This particular male drow is Patron of House Barrison Del'Armgo," Bruthwol said. "I hope that won't be a problem."

"Who the hell—?" Malagos started to say, a little bit shell-shocked by that revelation. This had to be some part of an elaborate revenge scheme. The drow were notorious for machinations like that and he didn't want to be the disposable asset in one of those games.

"I pride myself on my confidentiality," Bruthwol said with a chuckle. "But if that's a deal-breaker for you, you can pass me that envelope right back."

Malagos looked down at the envelope, clearly conflicted. Nek patted him on the back. "Ten thousand's a lot of money, big guy," the svirfneblin said. "We could retire happily and wealthily. Besides, we're not killing him, so no big deal, right? We've stolen lots of times."

"Nek, aren't you usually the voice of 'we do not involve ourselves in drow business'?" Alassëa said despite herself.

"Yeah, but 10,000 gold," the deep gnome said.

"Can't spend it if you're dead," Malagos said. He looked up at Bruthwol. "What happened to the last group you sent after these documents?"

"I find I sleep better at night not asking pesky questions like that," the grey dwarf said with a chuckle, pulling out a clay pipe. He started to tamp tobacco down into the bowl, watching them with interest.

Nek plucked the envelope out of their half orc's hands. "Just think about the pay off, big guy," the deep gnome said. "We've got this. Opportunities like this don't come knocking every day. You want to kill four more mindflayers, or do you want to do this one job?"

"Fine," Malagos said, clearly speaking against his better judgment. "We'll do it."

"That's what I like to hear," Bruthwol said, a gleam in his dark eyes. "Just bring the documents back here. I'll handle the rest. The gold's on completion, but you should have plenty of money to equip from Deu'ra."

"I'd shake on it, but then I'd have to count my fingers," Nek said, giving Bruthwol a slight brow. He didn't like the duergar, but he definitely respected him. Definitely a mercenary in his heart of hearts. Clearly whoever had put this job out had a lot of money and influence at their disposal, and clearly they wanted their identity left well out of the deal. He grabbed his big friend by the arm and piloted him upstairs to a private room, trusting that Alassëa and Thraele would follow.

Malagos snatched the envelope from him and opened it up. "What are we even looking for?" he said, eyes scanning the paper. It was Bruthwol's familiar handwriting and gave no clue to its person of origin. "Looks like personal correspondence."

"Probably blackmail," Nek commented as he closed the door to downstairs carefully and motioned for their cleric to place a ward of silence, unfortunately made possibly only by scrolls. The elf was no wizard. This was one of the rare times that using it would be worthwhile.

Alassëa frowned as she sat down on the edge of one bed. "I feel bad about helping blackmail anyone," she admitted quietly.

"You know better than most that drow nobles are not nice people, Alassëa," Nek said. "I wouldn't cry yourself to sleep worrying about this guy."

"And why are we getting tangled up with them again?" Malagos said. "You remember what happened last time."

"That was when we were working for them," the svirfneblin said dismissively.

"And who do you think would want the Patron of a drow house blackmailed? The duergar?" Malagos said.

"It's possible," the deep gnome said as he studied the rest of the papers. "Look, we're working for Bruthwol. I don't trust him, but I do expect him to be reasonable and less treacherous than anyone else we could be working for. He's the least of all evils."

"It's also possible that Bruthwol doesn't know everything," Alassëa said cautiously. "I don't like this."

"Hesitation noted," Nek said. He passed the papers over to Thraele. "Read up, girly. You're in this too."

"Girly?" Thraele said with amusement as she accepted the papers and sat down across from Alassëa.

"Still working on a nickname," Nek said with a shrug.

She laughed, but studied the papers closely. It was something almost approaching a dossier on the man. Dresmorlin Barrison Del'Armgo was a very public man with a lot of friends. They would, hopefully, have a great deal to work with. "The problem, we think, will be getting close," Thraele said after a few minutes of studying this. The task stirred at the shards of her as she drew on memories she couldn't recall having. This felt right. This felt like something she was supposed to be doing. It wasn't about money. No, this felt like purpose, the careful application of skills she had been given by a lifetime that she had lost long ago. It was a piece of who she was, a step towards reclaiming what she had been before.

It felt good.

Nek grinned as an idea came to him. "Ah, but we have you, girly," he said, clapping her on the back. "And I have a cunning plan."

Alassëa groaned and hid her face in her hands. "This cannot be good," she said, voice muffled.

"Relax," Nek said. "Look, spycraft is just misdirection. Smoke and mirrors. Our job is to keep the Patron completely focused on other things while Thraele gets in there and does what drow do best."

Thraele looked up from the papers. "You trust us?" she said skeptically.

"Girly, you don't even remember your name. I don't think you and I have a long history of enmity stretching back to the beginning of time," Nek said with a chuckle. "Besides, like you said, you owe us. Here you pay that tiny debt and make 2,500 gold. Not to mention the favor, which is probably worth more than that little fortune of a share. You can start a whole life with that money. Be your own person. Never be a thrall again, most importantly. And if we can find out more about you along the way, well, so much the better."

Thraele bowed her head. "Understood," she said. Some part of her was gratified just for the chance. "So what is our plan?"

"Well, we're going to start with a botched murder and go from there. All you have to do, Thraele, is be charming and helpful. You'll do some work for him, help him out of a few rough scrapes, like the houseless waif you are. You'll be someone for him to grab up and use for his purposes. When he thinks he's got you under his thumb completely to use and abuse, you'll snag those papers and we'll run."

"That's evil, Nek," Alassëa said, sounding a little bit appalled.

"Oh, don't make him a good guy. I know about Dresmorlin Barrison Del'Armgo. He's a Matron's stooge, the most open agent of the Church in all of Menzoberranzan besides Yvonnel Xl'arretz'soj, and all your little moon-kissing friends will sleep like babies knowing he's in a bind," Nek said by way of rebuke. "At least, depending on who has him by the balls. I don't particularly care."

"You don't?" Malagos said, amused.

"What can I say? I like to see powerful drow squirm. No offense, Thraele," Nek said. "The Bitch Queen of Spiders just rubs me the wrong way."

Thraele raised an eyebrow, uncomprehending.

"You don't remember Lloth?" Alassëa said. She supposed it shouldn't have surprised her, but it was shocking all the same. The Spider Queen was such an integral part of drow society that to hear of a dark elf who didn't know her, it took her completely aback

— _she was looking at a piece of parchment held by a dark hand, a spider crawling across the blank page. She felt her lips forming the words for its name. Spi-der. It was a creature of Lloth, something worthy of respect. Always, forever. Lloth. Lloth was an idea, a shadow, a flicker at the corner of the eyes, a whisper, and blood. So much blood—_

 _—blood all over her hands as she held him, watching the light fade until his dark eyes were empty, spell fizzling at her fingertips because she couldn't make the pain go away. Mother nowhere near to help fix this, to make the light come back—_

 _—"You'll be a powerful priestess someday, darling. A Matron Mother. No one will ever beat you again, no one will ever mock you again, but you will have to wait and suffer to get there. A crown comes through blood and sweat and tears. Yours, other people's. It doesn't matter. Power is all that matters." A hand tucked a lock of her long hair back behind one ear and she turned to look into crimson eyes, the eyes of the woman who had given birth to her—_

"Thraele, are you alright?" Malagos said, worried. Their drow had frozen suddenly, eyes focused on some immeasurable distance rather than the elf anymore. She looked like she'd seen a ghost.

"We…dreamed," she said in a halting voice. She realized she was gripping the papers so hard that she had crumpled them. "Lloth is power."

Alassëa hesitated. "Yes, the Spider Queen is very powerful," she said finally. "But she is not the only deity of the drow. You should learn about the others at some point, if you feel ready."

"Oh, relax. This one's not about to up and join the clergy," Nek said with a roll of his eyes. "No offense, Thraele, but you're not exactly priestess material at the moment. I think remembering the existence of your goddess is a requirement."

Thraele relaxed her grip on the papers and nodded her head unsteadily. "Yes," she said vaguely, still trying to process what she'd seen. She would need time to think about this. She didn't understand. A Matron Mother? She knew about them in the abstract, powerful drow clerics who ruled whole factions of the population in the cities, but…had that been the future of past-Thraele? If it hadn't been so vivid, she would have said it was a vision of someone else's life. She stood up. "We need air. Plot away."

"Thraele—" Alassëa started to say, standing up as well. Thraele slipped out without waiting, passing from one side of the ward to the other.

Malagos caught their cleric by the elbow. "Let her go, Alassëa," he said gently. "I think she just needs some time."

Thraele hurried down the stairs and out of the inn, but there was no peace and quiet for her thoughts outside in the city, not with all the sounds of the machinery and great forges, not with the cries of the destitute and desperate. She had left her best refuge. Now, she sat down in the inn's courtyard and covered her face with her hands.

"I didn't think I'd see another drow here," a male voice said softly.

Thraele shot up to her feet, hand reflexively going for her sword. She found herself face to face with a young male drow, smiling at her. The first thing she registered was his face, the lines of his face a little sharper than a male from good standing's. His eyes were a piercing sapphire blue, something she had never seen in the Underdark. He wasn't a big man, a sign of malnourishment in his youth, but he was lean and hard. Without thinking, she knew he would be a formidable opponent. He was wearing dark armor and a crimson sash, the symbol of a drow woman's head with eight spider legs coming from behind it—two pairs facing upwards and two pairs facing downwards—emblazoned on his chest. Lloth. "Who are you?" she demanded, though she managed to stop herself from drawing her blade.

He held up both hands in a universally placating gesture. "I'm Nalfein Zaphresz, and I think we've just gotten off on the wrong foot," he said. "I apologize for startling you, Mistress. This is my first time out of Menzoberranzan and I was excited to see another drow. I've been surrounded by duergar for days. Their company is a little bit…lacking."

His tone made her laugh. "They have a very special kind of charm," she said wryly.

"Forgive me if I say I haven't seen it," he said with a pleased amusement. "You are?"

"Thraele," she said. The smile on her face felt awkward, as she hadn't smiled very much in a very long time. She was impressed that she remembered how. Malagos, Alassëa, and Nek had taught her that much.

"Are you from Menzoberranzan?" he asked curiously.

She shook her head. "Going there." She was oddly self-conscious about her voice now and in fact her whole appearance. It was strange to suddenly care what someone thought.

"I'm returning myself. I leave in a few minutes," Nalfein said with a smile. "Perhaps I'll see you there, Thraele?"

"Perhaps," she said. Some part of her hoped so. He was the first drow she had seen other than herself, and the first to offer her a smile.

He gave her a deep bow. "Until then, Mistress Thraele," the drow male said. "I hope your journey is both swift and safe."

"You as well, Nalfein Zaphresz," she said. Her smile lingered after he was gone, her upset at the visions forgotten. Still, she gave it a few minutes before going to return to the others, who had come downstairs to order food and drinks now that their plan was taking shape. She watched where he'd gone for a long moment, a little bit confused and a little bit pleased.

He had spoken to her like she was a person. In a friendly way, even. Perhaps being around her kind wouldn't be so bad, even if she did have to watch their smiles for fangs.


	3. The Introduction

Menzoberranzan was like nothing she could have ever dreamed. It was beautiful in the dark way of the drow, a giant web of interlocking busy streets and buildings of an alien style. Glittering towers and great buildings rose on either side. The city held a thousand smells, a thousand sounds. Voices hawking wares, the sharp rebukes of slavers as they handled new chattel brought in from raids, hundreds of discussions and arguments, great lizards pulling creaking wagons through avenues, a spider tender whistling as he nudged along his charges with a crook—these subtle cadences of the city rose and blended with the smells of spiced meat, crowds, slave pens, and so many other things. It stirred faint, barely memorable dreams of another city of drow, larger even, a dark gem in the heart of the drow realms.

"You alright?" Malagos asked her. He knew better than to touch Thraele to offer comfort or anything of that nature. Female drow were touchy when and only when it suited them, even her. He grinned a little bit at her awestruck expression as she stared at Narbondel's shining light. "Pretty impressive, huh?"

"Very," Thraele said. "And more pleasant than the duergar city by far."

Thankfully, most of the drow ignored them as they passed, no doubt taking the little group to be Thraele's bodyguards or slaves or something of the like. There was no question that they would be hassled at some point, but at the moment, the populace of the city had better things to do—both drow and slaves alike.

They settled in to one of the quieter traveler's inns, mercifully anonymous in the midst of other odd adventurers. Nek had a rare gift for finding places like this. His plan was a simple one. Rather than stage an assassination of their own, it would be much easier, Nek explained in the privacy of their rooms, to find an ongoing one and thwart it on Dresmorlin's behalf. That would serve as beginning enough of an association, provided Thraele could walk the talk. The deep gnome had very little doubt that it would be a problem. Really, the most difficult part would be finding an opportunity.

The others were a little less fond of that particular plan, particularly Alassëa. _There has to be a better way,_ she'd insisted.

"He likes to go gambling incognito. Some street thugs are bound to try and hurt him," Malagos said, looking up from the dossier they'd been given back in Gracklstugh. He had been examining it more and more closely. Whoever had put it together was thorough. They knew most of his bad habits and little quirks.

"Maybe we don't have to go directly through him," Nek said as he resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to get to shoot at Dresmorlin. He glanced over at Thraele, who was lying on her bed fully dressed and just feeling the spidersilk sheets with one hand. It made him chuckle a little bit. The simple things in life seemed wonderful to her after her time in Deu'ra's possession. "Barrison Del'Armgo does have other nobles. Any of them could be an avenue to his private quarters. It really depends on how friendly our resident drow is feeling."

"Tell us about the others," Thraele said softly.

"Well, there's the Matron. Mez'Barris Armgo is a piece of work, as expected," Nek said with mock cheer. "She has a definitely vicious cunning. Good commander, likes to get up close and personal in her fights. She has five daughters: Tathlyn, Drada, Ilmrae, Lythrana, and Jhulae. Oh, and a few sons. Busy in the bedroom with Uthegental when he was alive, I guess. Dresmorlin's a new acquisition, so he doesn't have any kids with her yet. As for the spawn? It's a spectrum of bad. Tathlyn's a little more straightforward and Lythrana's a quiet type from what I've heard, but the others are as nasty as drow come."

"They wouldn't exactly rub elbows with commoners," Malagos pointed out thoughtfully, stroking his chin.

"I may have a way in through one of the faithful," Alassëa said. "And we have coin. We could easily make Thraele into the kind of woman that people like Mez'Barris Armgo's daughters might actually want to be around. That's true of even the Patron as well, now that I think about it. A more subtle agent for hire than the usual mercenary."

"Thraele, you think you can be subtle?" Nek asked, looking over at their former thrall. He wouldn't have called her reaction to Myrineyl's people subtle, but that was also fresh off her experience with Deu'ra. Gracklstugh and Menzoberranzan seemed to be restoring her to a more thoughtful state.

"We can attempt," she said. She sat up. "We could pose as a noble of a fallen house from one of the far cities, turned to personal gain. That makes it difficult to verify our identity. Even Bruthwol would not be able to confirm or deny it if he were put to the question—you told him only that we are a wanderer."

Malagos nodded thoughtfully. "We'll need more coin, but that shouldn't be a problem if we do some jobs for lesser matriarchs and the like. You think you have a contact, Alassëa?"

"Sindyrrith Tuin, a freelancer who currently works for Bregan D'aerthe in an…advisory capacity. She's a friend. An actual friend, or at least as close as you can get in the Underdark. She has every reason to help us if what you say about Dresmorlin is true," their cleric said with a nod. "She's one of my people."

"So a spy," Nek said dryly. "Lot of faith there, princess."

"She owes me her life and she's the type of woman who honors her debts. I'll send her a message," Alassëa said. She was actually fairly confident in her friendship with Sindyrrith, despite the fact that she had been burned before. The drow agent had proven herself on multiple occasions—more than could be said of a past associate—and she'd worked with Alassëa to smuggle a fair number of Eilistraee's people out of the city. "Thraele could work as one of her partners. That could easily give her an in."

"Very well," Thraele said. She could feel a thrill course through her body. All this planning, preliminary though it might have been, was beginning to take shape. It felt good to have a purpose, a challenge. "We await eagerly."

* * *

They met at a ruined tower well outside of Menzoberranzan. Sindyrrith was a plain, unremarkable woman who wouldn't have looked out of place walking down any street. She dressed in practical leather armor not unlike Thraele's own, a variety of knives on her person and a single enchanted shortsword at her hip. She definitely looked like a rogue in her current dress. She greeted Alassëa with a hug, much to the surprise of their companions. " _Mae govannen,_ Alassëa," the rogue said, Elvish rolling off her tongue easily. "It's been a long time. I hear you killed a mindflayer. You're a braver soul than I."

"Your future partner killed it, actually," Alassëa said, motioning at Thraele. "We were about to be in a very bad spot."

"I suppose I should thank you, then," Sindyrrith said, holding out her hand to the quiet drowess who was watching the interaction with amaranthine eyes. The former thrall seemed relaxed enough. "I appreciate anyone who helps out my ally. Goddess knows Alassëa can't take care of herself."

It earned a little huff from the cleric, which prompted a smile from Thraele's newest acquaintance.

"Nothing could have made us happier," Thraele said honestly as she clasped the outstretched hand firmly. There was something evaluating in Sindyrrith's eyes, but whatever she saw, she seemed to approve of.

"Alassëa's letter explained the situation, in the usual roundabout way," Sindyrrith said as she sat down on part of the crumbling ruin of a tower. "I'm more than prepared to help you put a decidedly less than charming gentleman into a bind. Dresmorlin has been sniffing around for Eilistraee's followers in the city. Anything that diverts his attention away from us would be welcome. Besides, if you can kill a mindflayer, it's not like you're going to be dead weight, Thraele. I've got a couple jobs I could use the help on, which should pique the interest of someone in House Barrison Del'Armgo. One of them is even for that house. Lythrana Armgo wants an object recovered that was stolen by a runaway slave. No need to bring the slave back, but what he's carrying, she would very much like returned."

"Stolen from her?" Malagos asked.

"No, from one of her sisters, but she'd like it all the same and her coin is good," Sindyrrith said pleasantly. "So how about we work on that stolen object and make the rest fall into place?"

"Thank you so much for doing this, Sin," Alassëa said softly.

"Hey, I'm getting as much out of it—if not more—than you are. It's not like this is charity," the drow agent said pleasantly. "You all have your gear? The grimlock ran this way, headed southwest along the Darklake towards Blingdenstone. I doubt the svirfneblin are going to let him in, but who knows? They might feel bad for him."

"No problem," Nek said, shouldering his crossbow as the others picked up their gear. Sindyrrith grabbed her bag from where it was resting by her feet and followed the svirfneblin ranger out towards the wilds.

"So you're going to let the slave go?" Malagos said. "I'm surprised Lythrana doesn't want him dragged back to be killed or executed in the field."

"He didn't steal from her," Sindyrrith said with a shrug. "Besides, I don't usually deal with assassinations or bounty hunting and she knows that. Objects and information are the name of the game. A lot more valuable and a lot less blood on my clothes. Do you know how hard it is to get stains out of nice spidersilk?"

Thraele grinned a little bit. She had a feeling she was going to enjoy working with the rogue.

The trail was not a long one, only two days out before they were very close to him. One slave with limited supplies didn't move very quickly or well, not compared to well-equipped and well-fed adventurers. Thraele continued her tradition of keeping largely quiet at the camp fire, her amaranthine eyes watching the darkness around them always. Malagos assumed it was because she was concerned about an attack from servants of a mindflayer. Sindyrrith was usually deep in conference with Alassëa, discussing other things pertaining to the movements of followers of Eilistraee in the city, but she gladly carried on a conversation with the other two when the opportunity arose. The agent always had her eye on Thraele, though, watching the former thrall as she watched everything else. There was something familiar about the complete sync between body and mind. Sindyrrith had a nagging feeling that she'd seen it before, that this former thrall had once been something like herself. Not in Menzoberranzan, or she would have known it, but she couldn't help that strange feeling of déjà vu.

Nek took the lead as their tracker with Thraele moving like his shadow. Sindyrrith fell back to chat with Malagos and Alassëa as they made their way along the trail for the third day in a row. "She's a quiet one," the agent commented. She was keeping her curiosity as contained as she could, but the part of her that hunted secrets was hard to squash. "I haven't met many people who can move like that. What's her story?"

"We don't know," Alassëa admitted. "She was enslaved by the mindflayer. Other than that, she can't seem to remember anything. Occasionally, she gets fragments of the past as visions. She didn't even know who Lloth was at first."

"She's not missing out on much there," Sindyrrith said, keeping her voice low enough that it wouldn't be audible to the pair up ahead. She didn't want Thraele to object to the prying, which was possible even though she was a relatively friendly face. "I think she might have been someone like me, once upon a time. I've seen the way she watches people. Knows her way around a blade and moves that quietly…someone trained her well." She left out the part of familiarity. The more she was around Thraele, the more she was sure she knew whoever had trained the quiet drowess. But then again, she knew a lot of people in her trade around the Underdark, both drow and not drow.

Sindyrrith had only officially settled down in Menzoberranzan recently, when she inked a contract to work with Bregan D'aerthe as a specialist. She still wasn't technically a part of the mercenary group, of course, because that drew a little more attention to its members than she was really ready for. She'd spent her whole life on the peripheries, and while she dealt with nobles on a regular basis, she wasn't prepared for them to try and use her as an in to win points with Jarlaxle just for the favors they thought they could get out of the male.

Besides, she was close to thinking about retirement and she didn't want the commitment of Bregan D'aerthe. A few more decades and she'd either be dead or done, as far as she was concerned. She would keep working with Alassëa and the clerics of Eilistraee, of course. A lack of her normal work meant she could focus on that even more, at least until she was caught—something that her association with Bregan D'aerthe might put off a little bit. Still, Sindyrrith had no expectation that she would survive to a ripe old age like Yvonnel Baenre—she would die, and painfully at that, at the hands of the Church as a heretic. But before that, she could do a lot of good, and Sindyrrith had left enough selfishness behind that she could content herself with that. Not that she was perfect.

"I don't think she's as old as she seems," Malagos said. "I think only a century or so. She's just aged beyond her years."

"Well, let's hope that aging is preparation enough for handling Dresmorlin," Sindyrrith said. She drew her weapon as soon as she saw Thraele and Nek stop up ahead. Frost formed on her silvery blade immediately in arcane patterns. "Quietly now. Don't want to spook him. I hate running after them."

Malagos quietly grunted his agreement. His armor was not made for a foot chase.

Up ahead, Thraele and Nek stalked forward in silence. The grimlock was unfortunately awake, splashing water from the Darklake into his mouth. His long dark hair was mattered with filth, but his teeth were still sharp and white against his grey skin and his body was still muscled despite some gauntness from hunger. Bulging white eyes flickered their way, but didn't seem to notice them. Grimlocks were not known for their keen eyesight, of course.

 _Should I wound him?_ Nek signed to Thraele. She wasn't too surprised that he knew drow hand-sign. Nek had been around for a while.

She shook her head slowly and then continued creeping up on the back of the grimlock until she was only a few paces behind them. She knew instinctively that Nek had his crossbow at the ready and that the others would be bringing up the rear. Instead of attacking, she spotted a pouch hanging off the rope belt that tied the creature's burlap tunic at the waist. She flipped out a dagger and severed the pouch from the belt with one swift movement, snatching it out of the air even as the creature let out a howl and swung awkwardly for the thief. Thraele shot backwards to avoid the powerful blow of its club, the pouch secure in her off hand. She flipped her knife so that the single-edged blade was resting against her forearm with the edge facing out so she could block more easily if he decided to use the long, lethal looking dagger he also had through his belt.

"Freeze," Nek ordered, stepping out of the shadows with his crossbow leveled at the creature. "You're outnumbered and outmatched."

Thraele backpedaled a little bit more and opened up the pouch. There, gleaming amidst some grimy copper coins, was an intricate golden bracelet. It was woven of delicate bands of gold, almost thin enough to be called threads, in web-like patterns of an ancient drow style. She could sense a faint hint of magic coming off it, a skill imparted to her likely by some magical training that lingered in her subconscious. She didn't know enough to determine what the enchantment was. She flicked it out of the bag, holding it up for Sindyrrith's inspection as the creature yowled in protest. "Is this it?"

"It would appear so," Sindyrrith said, gingerly taking the bracelet from Thraele. "Pretty. Old, too. If I had to guess, I'd say it's been in the family for a long time. The magic is weak, though. Alassëa will have to take a look at it if we want to know what it is."

"Mine!" the creature snarled, lunging towards the two drow. A crossbow bolt nicked his upper leg, prompting a yelp and a cringe backwards. Nek reloaded casually.

"Not yours," Sindyrrith retorted, tossing the pouch of copper back to the creature less than gently. She hit the grimlock in the chest with it, but the creature grabbed ahold of the little pouch tightly with a glare that was half furious and half terrified. "Grab your shit and get running, grimlock. I'm not feeling very murderous at the moment, so you can call it your lucky day."

The creature hesitated for a second, then grabbed the rough knapsack by its feet and bolted away along the shore of the lake. He didn't glance back over his shoulder or do anything else that might have slowed him down. It was a better deal than any other hunter would have given him.

"I love a quick job," Sindyrrith said, handing the bracelet back to Thraele. "And you're going to give it to her to win some points. Nice grab, by the way. Must have been a cutpurse in a past life."

"Sindyrrith Tuin, what a surprise," a male voice said from behind them. Definitely a duergar from the low pitch and accent. "I heard Lythrana hired somebody, but I didn't think it'd be you."

"Ugh. Knew it was going too good to last," the agent muttered, turning around to see a group of duergar with crossbows trained on their little group. "These charming dwarves, led by the oh so handsome Murghol Ironthew, are some of Ilmrae's regular hires. Thuggish for my tastes, but she doesn't particularly care about the body count. I think we know who the grimlock stole from."

"And an elf! Funny seeing two drow and a faerie all cuddly. I don't think your folks back in Menzoberranzan would be too happy about that," the duergar leader said with a grin. His blocky face looked like a fist. It wasn't overly scarred, but he wasn't a pretty creature by any stretch of the imagination. "I think they ought to know, unless you want to hand over that pretty little trinket and take a walk."

"Thuldark kicked him out of Gracklstugh for working for the drow, like an idiot," the agent continued. "Or at least someone dumb enough to get caught. He's lucky he's not bright enough to look like a ringleader, otherwise he would have ended up as dead as his buddies. Plus, I think she would have objected to his blood all over those lovely, gleaming avenues of Gracklstugh."

"Hands up," Murghol ordered. "And you don't know what you're talking about, Tuin, so shut your mouth."

"He talks a lot," Thraele commented softly.

"The dumb ones all do," Sindyrrith said. "And me, of course. But I'm more of a looker than a thinker anyway."

"Shut up!" the duergar snapped. "Hands up, Tuin. And you, drow, give us the bracelet!" He was glaring at Thraele as he spoke.

Sindyrrith cleared her throat. "Would you be lovely and hand the man his bracelet?" she said calmly, flicking her fingers as raised her hand, so subtle in her movements that Thraele almost missed it. Thraele wasn't positive, but she was fairly certain that the agent had just signed: _we've got this_.

The former thrall strode forward, the delicate piece of deftly woven bands of gold in one hand and her sword in the other. The crossbows focused on her with just a little bit too much intensity. "Sword down, drow," the lead duergar ordered.

Thraele smiled and started to bend down as if slowly setting her sword on the ground. They blinked, and then Sindyrrith stepped out of the shadows behind them, her frosted blade flashing briefly in the dark. There was a cry from the rear two, which pulled the leader's attention from Thraele long enough for her to surge forward and hit the lead duergar through the throat with the full length of her sword, almost severing his head. Nek fired his shot and Malagos waded into the fray, his greatsword cleaving through their armor with a vengeance. It was a short, bloody battle. Malagos took a bolt to the leg, but he was the only injury on the party's side. The duergar were all dead in short order.

Sindyrrith sighed as she looked down at them. "Can't cure stupid," she said before methodically wiping her blade off on one of the bodies.

"How did you do that?" Thraele asked curiously.

"I'm a shadowdancer. I have a special connection to the darkness," Sindyrrith said. She grinned. "I can teach you, if you like. Might come in handy."

"We see that," the former thrall said, cleaning off her own blade before returning it to its scabbard. She watched as Malagos wrenched the crossbow bolt out of his thigh and let Alassëa tend to the wound. The cleric was careful around it, weaving a healing spell with the practiced ease of someone who had been doing that kind of thing for centuries. "It is an impressive feat."

"You're not so bad yourself," Sindyrrith said approvingly. "Now, let's get back to Menzoberranzan. You and I have an appointment with Revered Lythrana."


	4. The Offer

Thraele followed the permanently cowed svirfneblin slave through the halls of House Barrison Del'Armgo, well aware that the mere construction of the place was meant to strike awe into her heart. It was a marvel of engineering, a fortress few could ever hope to assail, but the inside was palatial. But the beauty of fountains and tapestries and art worked into the walls and the floor was largely lost on the thrall, in a strange way. One might have expected her to be impressed or overwhelmed. Instead, she was focused mostly on watching to see who watched her. The effect of the place was slightly less compelling after Nek's expansive lecture on the hubris of drow nobles. Apparently this was fairly typical for most houses.

Most of the servants and slaves scurried about on their missions, but one or two peered in her direction. She made note of them as best she could without giving away that she was watching back. Sindyrrith had told her that being cautious would pay dividends and it was advice she'd taken to heart.

"Please wait here, Mistress," the slave said quietly, motioning for her to wait in the hall while he vanished into Lythrana's quarters to inform the woman that there was a visitor waiting.

A moment later there was a bang and a tall, lithe woman came stalking out of the door to Lythrana's quarters. She curled her lip at Thraele, who had stepped to the side to allow the drowess unobstructed passage into the rest of the house. If the former thrall had to guess, she would say noble despite the armor. The slave who had been her guide appeared, looking a little bit frightened, but on his heels was another drow woman in a silvery spidersilk dress. Lythrana was a pretty woman with ink-stained fingers and troubled red eyes, with broader hips than average for a drow and a fuller bust. "I apologize for my sister," the drow noble said softly. "Tathlyn isn't the most thoughtful person in the world when she's in a mood. Normally she has manners."

"No offense taken," Thraele said with a faint smile. "Revered Lythrana, we take it?"

"Yes," the noble said. She turned the slave. "You may go now."

He scurried off and Lythrana motioned for Thraele to head into her study. The priestess followed her in and closed the door behind them. "Thank you for coming, Thraele. It's unfortunate Sindyrrith is caught up in business, but I suppose that's a hazard of working with Bregan D'aerthe," she said softly. "I hope the mission wasn't too difficult. I imagine a lone slave doesn't put up much of a fight."

Lythrana's study was packed with enough books, written in a dozen different languages, to make a wizard turn green with envy. A few were open on her desk and so was a small journal with pages written in a neat handwriting. She could see diagrams and designs of weapons and other devices, perhaps siege weapons. Most of the books actually looked mundane, though there were a fair number on magical theory. There were histories of military campaigns and strategies, but most of it seemed to be focused on engineering and craftsmanship in the vein of metallurgy or enchantments. Lythrana's was a mechanical mind. Other people saw blank metal, but she saw gears and devilishly clever artifices.

"We had no trouble," Thraele said, carefully opening up the small bag she'd brought with her and producing the bracelet. She knew they were right when Lythrana's face lit up at just the sight of it. She reached out and took it from the former thrall carefully, almost as if she thought her touch might break it.

"I'd thought that when Ilmrae took it, I would never see it again," Lythrana said, turning it over in her hands. She sat down, smiling a little bit at it. "Thank you for this."

"It's quite special to you," Thraele commented. "Would you mind if we inquired as to why?"

"It's a rarity, maybe the only one of its kind left, though the magic mostly faded centuries ago. It was a gift from the Patron, something he found out in some ruins when he was a young and adventurous type," the noble said quietly. Lythrana had spent a lot of time with Uthegental when he was alive. There was no guarantee that he was her father—Mez'Barris had no incentive to stay loyal to one male, other than the natural security concerns—but he had treated Lythrana with a certain level of fondness that he didn't offer her sisters. The priestess smiled, but humorlessly. "Ilmrae certainly enjoyed taking it. She's a petty creature, cruel for cruelty's sake. It was a rare stroke of luck that the grimlock stole it from her on his way out."

"Well, she wanted it back," Thraele said. "We encountered her duergar. The meeting was less enjoyable for them than it was for us."

"Good," Lythrana said with a hint of satisfaction. "Now, what favor did you and Sindyrrith want from me? I already paid her the gold she asked for."

Thraele paused for a moment. This would be placing a little more of herself into the hands of fate than she would have liked, but Sindyrrith had suggested that they gamble a little bit. According to the agent, there wasn't a lot of love lost between Lythrana and the current Patron. "We would like a key," she said quietly. "One that opens the door to the Patron's quarters."

Lythrana considered this for a little while, studying Thraele intently. "I'd ask you if you mean to kill him, but honestly I'd be glad to see him dead," she said quietly. "And a deal is a deal." She reached into her desk and withdrew a small, silver key. Thraele could feel the magic emanating from it. "This will allow you access into his chambers, but I will need it back. His quarters a little further down the hall, two doors down to the left. And when you return, I may have another favor to ask of you. A large one, but a compensated one, of course. Go now. He's at the arena with the Matron. They may be back at any time, though."

Thraele took the key and gave Lythrana a small smile. "A pleasure doing business," she said. Once she'd exited the study, her steps became so soft they were inaudible and she kept to the shadows, dodging the notice of the occasional servant.

The key worked as promised. The moment she slipped it into the door, she felt powerful wards flicker and then vanish at the same time as she undid the mechanical lock. That was a relief—she wouldn't have been able to force it or pick it without triggering alarms. She stepped into the Patron's lavish quarters quietly, careful to make certain she wasn't seen. This was clearly owned by someone who enjoyed all the luxury that came with status, which made sense. Patrons, from what she could tell, were powerful men. Unfortunately, with that power came the obligation to serve as the Matron's favorite whipping boy and plaything. She began her search with an expert air. She didn't know how she knew where to look, but she found herself inspecting drawers and feeling for hidden compartments so swiftly and naturally that she knew this was a definite part of her life before this one. Finally, she found it: a drawer that wasn't as deep as it should have been. Thraele drew the slim blade she wore on the outside of her thigh and used it to pry open the false bottom. Underneath it were a series of envelopes. She didn't open the unsealed envelopes, at least not yet, and took them with her as they were.

As she turned around, a female figure detached from the shadows. "I've been waiting for you," a soft, melodic voice said. "Or at least, for a spy." A voluptuous human woman stepped out of the shadows, but she smelled of the Abyss. _Succubus_. A guardian left by the Patron, no doubt. He was supposedly a wizard of considerable power. "It's really a shame. You're a pretty one. The fun we could have…"

Thraele felt a faint chill and minutely adjusted her grip on her dagger. "We have what we came for," she said. "We have no interest in combat."

"But you'll stay with me," the succubus purred, layering its syllables with a charm effect. The creature frowned, looking confused. "Your mind—"

The moment Thraele realized it was trying to touch her thoughts, she lunged forward with the blade in hand. She drove it down behind the creature's collarbone like an icepick. The demon screamed, but Thraele was fairly confident that the wards had at least dampened the sound. Claws raked Thraele's armor, but didn't pierce it. She would have to thank Nek later. "Stay out of our head," the drowess hissed. She yanked the knife out and drove it into the succubus's shoulder, damaging the joint. Apparently her shattered mind was more difficult to control, Deu'ra's cruelty turning to her advantage.

The demon went for her face, so she recoiled back and flipped the blade in her hand so she no longer had it in a reverse grip. She kept her weapon hand back so the succubus couldn't grab it. "I will not die to you, broken-mind," the demon hissed, tail slashing the air angrily. It lunged.

Thraele twisted, stepping off line and stabbing hard into the creature's back as it missed her. She hit the spine, adamantine blade severing it. The succubus dropped to the floor. Before she could think, it had changed forms. Now, lying broken on the ground, was Alassëa.

"Help me," it whispered in the elf's voice.

"We know what you are," Thraele said. She drove the knife down into its face. The moment the creature died, it evaporated as if it had never been there, save for the pool of black demon blood on the floor. Dresmorlin would know the creature was gone the moment he stepped back into his chambers, but that couldn't be helped. Thraele wiped off her blade on a square of cloth she'd brought with her and then tucked the cloth back in a pouch on her belt. She slipped out of the bedroom the way she'd come.

It wasn't a difficult task, obtaining these letters. Why were they so valuable that someone was willing to pay 10,000 gold for them? Thraele was puzzled. She knew that opening the envelopes could be incredibly dangerous. But maybe it was worth it. Her curiosity was burning.

The priestess was waiting for her when Thraele returned to her quarters. Lythrana raised an eyebrow. "You wanted letters? I'm somewhat disappointed," she said with a small smile. She noticed the claw-marks in the leather of Thraele's armor, but didn't say anything. It was impressive—she knew that Dresmorlin had _something_ guarding his rooms while he was away. Apparently it hadn't been too much of a challenge for this strange rogue.

Thraele presented her with the small silver key. "Your assistance is appreciated," she said. "You wanted to negotiate another deal?" Thraele wasn't certain if she could get Sindyrrith a good deal, but she could attempt to bargain.

"Yes," Lythrana said softly. "I know it will be a lot to ask, as far as time and dedication. I need protection. My sisters have unpleasant friends. I can defend myself well, but that's not good enough when people have nothing better to do than try to kill you."

"You want a bodyguard," Thraele said.

"Yes, though a more subtle one," Lythrana said softly. "I need an ally who won't turn on me the moment Ilmrae or one of the others dangles gold in front of them or promises sweet things. I can reward you. Sindyrrith has a good reputation for following through on her jobs, for not double-crossing her employers. At least, not often. I hope you share her professionalism. Please, at least consider it. The offer is open to both you and Sindyrrith."

Thraele considered this. She had protected Deu'ra from threats and him she hated. Lythrana was more tolerable by far. Perhaps it wouldn't be unwise to take her up on her offer. Either way, however, it was something better discussed with Sindyrrith first. The agent knew more about what was going on in Menzoberranzan than even Nek did. She would know exactly how dangerous this deal would be. At least, as much as anyone ever could. "We will consider it and discuss," Thraele said. "Is that everything, Revered Lythrana?"

"Yes. Thank you for your time," Lythrana said with a little nod.

Thraele left Barrison Del'Armgo's compound as quietly as she could. She made it a few streets down before she opened the first of the unsealed envelopes and gingerly pulled out the contents. Each one was page after page of letter. They were heated letters that spoke of resentment and romance at the same time. Apparently Mez'Barris wasn't the only one who wandered, but knowing how Matrons were, Dresmorlin would be in a very unpleasant position if his own affair were to come to light. A lethal one, even. Blackmail of the most valuable variety. In her hands was the power to break someone. Could she accept a small fortune in exchange for completely ruining a man?

Thraele slid the letters back into their envelopes and headed to Sindyrrith's home. It wasn't just her decision, after all. The others had stakes in it too. In the end, she knew she would do what pleased them. She was paying her debt still.

* * *

"It would probably be a good gig for you. I've got other things on my hands with Bregan D'aerthe, so I can't, but maybe you should," Sindyrrith said thoughtfully, tipping back in her seat at the kitchen table. Her house was a small one on the outskirts of Menzoberranzan with a nice view of the lake, probably expensive but—as the woman herself put it—certainly worth it to avoid the press of the city. "You'd be busy as hell. There's a lot of competition for the position of Matron Mother of Menzoberranzan's second house. Steady work, though, and Lythrana is very timely about paying the help. At least me, anyway."

"Yeah, but do you have the letters?" Nek said as he serviced his crossbow. It was a simple piece of svirfneblin engineering, but he was replacing the string with a new spidersilk, one courtesy of Sindyrrith, and cleaning the dirt out of the mechanism. "I mean, hypothetical and future gold is good, but certain and present gold is better."

"We have them," Thraele said softly, producing the envelopes. She'd bound them together with string to form a small package. "They have the power to bring ruin to Dresmorlin. Is that what we truly wish?"

"Giving it to someone is no guarantee they're going to use it," Malagos said. Alassëa was the only person missing, currently headed up towards the surface with a new initiate into Eilistraee's clergy. "Besides, Dresmorlin is not exactly a friendly man to our allies, Thraele."

"Your allies," Thraele said. "We do not know them. Nor do we know Dresmorlin enough to hate him."

"Oh, give him about five minutes. That's all you'll need," Sindyrrith said dryly. "But point taken. I understand qualms of conscience, rare though they may be in me. I promise you that you're doing more good than harm in this, Thraele. Plus, there's good money in it. You'll want that and I don't think you can afford to be too picky, right now."

"Lythrana will pay us as a bodyguard," Thraele pointed out.

"Never put your faith only in a single web," the drow agent advised. "That coin is a toe in the exit door, if you don't blow through it. If I were you, I'd keep it in case anything ever goes wrong with Lythrana. She seems nice enough, but when push comes to shove…well, you can't trust a queen to have your back when the moves to checkmate are made. Not if you're just a pawn. Don't get me wrong, though: Lythrana's offer is a good one. Just, you know, be ready."

Thraele reluctantly handed Nek the envelopes. The deep gnome slapped her on the back. "You won't regret it, girly," he said with a grin. "You're going places and coin is never a bad thing to have if you're headed to the top."

"Careful, Nek," Sindyrrith said quietly. "Throw promises like that around and you're liable to put out an eye. Thraele, take a walk with me. I can tell you a little bit more about the nobles of Barrison Del'Armgo. You'll want to know what you're walking int—hello, Inquisitor. I didn't realize I'd left the door open." Sindyrrith didn't even flinch or bat an eye, despite her heretical views and checkered past and the fact that the door had been locked. She was an old hand at this particular game.

Thraele turned to see a familiar face. She hadn't forgotten those blue eyes. "Nalfein Zaphresz," she said by way of greeting, bowing her head to him. It was good to see someone familiar, even if he did make Nek tense up uncomfortably.

A pleasantly surprised look flashed across his face. "Mistress Thraele," he greeted, swiftly giving her a little bow.

"You know him?" Nek said, confused.

"We saw him in Gracklstugh," Thraele said by way of explanation.

Sindyrrith's lips quirked up at one corner into a sort of half-smile. "Ah, Inquisitor Zaphresz, the newly minted one. Last I recall, my current partners in business and your mistress have a certain understanding, so I am of course in a helpful mood. Whatever can I do for you? Unless, of course, this is a social call. In which case, please, have a seat."

"Lady Imrae of House Barrison Del'Armgo made a complaint to the Church about you, Mistress Tuin. She claims you are working counter to the interests of Lloth."

"She has a high opinion of herself if she believes her will and the Spider Queen's are synonymous," Thraele commented. Sindyrrith had warned her that some of the nobles could be particularly haughty and vociferous in their complaints if thwarted, so this wasn't a huge surprise.

Nalfein grinned. "I don't disagree," he said. "But all the same, I have been asked to convey to you the Revered Daughter's message to you."

Sindyrrith's expression was all polite, innocent interest. "Do go on," she said.

"She said, and I quote, _Tell Tuin to either stop whatever she's doing so Ilmrae stops bothering me or do whatever she's doing so hard that Ilmrae pops a coronary and dies of apoplexy,_ " Nalfein reported. "She was less than thrilled with the interruption into her daily prayers."

"I can see that," Sindyrrith said. She looked pleased despite the fact that she normally avoided inquisitors and the Church like the plague. She knew the Revered Daughter by reputation more than any intimate friendship. It was better to keep things that powerful at a distance, in her humble opinion. It was the same reason she never worked directly through Matrons. Displeasure there meant death at best. "Still, it's always good to know that she's keeping a sense of humor about it. Thank you, Inquisitor. Thraele, you should go give Lythrana your answer sooner rather than later. Don't want her to go shopping somewhere else."

"Shall I walk with you, Mistress Thraele?" Nalfein asked politely. "It's on my way back to the Yath'Abban."

"Good idea," Sindyrrith said thoughtfully, studying Thraele for a moment. "Our mutual acquaintance doesn't know the city too well yet, so if you could remedy that, it would be appreciated."

Thraele gave the agent a quizzical look, but she didn't read anything but sincerity in the woman's expression. Not that she was disappointed to be going with Nalfein. "Of course," she said before standing up and following him out of the door.

"You have interesting acquaintances," Nalfein said once they were outside. He knew that Sindyrrith had been accused of heresy multiple times. It just never quite stuck. The woman was something of a legend among the servants of Lloth as a survivalist. Her latest alignment with Bregan D'aerthe promised to shut down a lot of those questions, even if she wasn't a member proper of the organization. He didn't know anything much about the deep gnome or the half orc, but he knew the types. They all but screamed 'mercenary'. "They say you can tell a lot about someone by the company they keep."

Thraele raised an eyebrow. "Is that a warning?" she asked mildly.

"Just an observation," he said with a shrug. "But then again, you are an adventurer. That makes for strange bedfellows."

She laughed.

They talked about the city for a good ten minutes of the walk, Nalfein leading the way down side streets and back alleys. Beggars and servants cleared a path for him, and her by extension. However, Thraele knew there was an unspoken question.

"What did you want to ask?" she said finally as they neared House Barrison Del'Armgo.

Nalfein stopped and turned to face her. "Do you know Lady Lythrana?" he asked almost hopefully. There was something in his eyes that she thought she'd seen before, somewhere else. It would take her time to place it.

"We may be her bodyguard in the near future," Thraele said. "Why?"

The inquisitor shrugged his shoulders. "Just curious," he said. His eyes, however, were saying something else. "We should talk again if you're going to stay in Menzoberranzan. The city can be overwhelming and sometimes it's nice to have a familiar face around."

Thraele nodded. "We would like that," she said quietly.

"Then I'll see you later," Nalfein said with a smile. He gave her a slight bow in farewell. "Be careful, Thraele. Guarding nobles is a dangerous line of work."

It struck her when he walked away that Nalfein was the only person who hadn't asked her why she talked the way she did. She wasn't certain what to make of that, but in its own way, it was strangely comforting. One less person she had to explain herself and her situation to, at least.


	5. The First Seeds

Yvonnel smiled faintly at the mirror, studying the crimson eyes of her accomplice in this particular endeavor. They were conferring by scrying, as the distances between their respective cities were difficult to bridge. Neither of them could afford to travel—not for lack of resources, but because too much happened in their respective spheres of influence that required immediate attention from both of them. The Revered Daughter was refined, but her co-conspirator was polished. Yvonnel would always admire her for her poise, the way she could still look perfect and unruffled despite mishap or misadventure. "She's accepted Lythrana's offer," the Revered Daughter said pleasantly. "I hope you appreciate the effort I've put into this endeavor. I had to go to great lengths to orchestrate the release of her from the clutches of that creature."

"Of course. You are a master of your craft," the woman in the mirror said, leaning back into the shadows that obscured her partially. There were very few people in the world that Yvonnel considered her equal. Her namesake had been one, along with another Matron Mother in Menzoberranzan. This woman that she was speaking to was certainly one of those who could be counted on one hand. "But if I recall correctly, we _both_ benefit from this. Now, you mentioned that she happened into some interesting company."

"Renegades and an agent with a history of questionable associations working at least in name with Bregan D'aerthe. They're a mercenary organization…not that the Dark Gem permits such groups to attain the status they have in Menzoberranzan. Still, they serve a purpose," Yvonnel commented, sipping from her wine. It was a surface vintage, sweeter than the bitter lichen wines of the depths. An acquired and expensive taste, but Yvonnel knew that she needed a vice. She didn't keep lovers or play with any of the lesser diversions that nobles liked to fill their time with, perhaps because she didn't consider herself one. Oh, she had come from noble roots, but that house had fallen long ago. No, she was a servant of the Demon Queen of Spiders. While that did sometimes entail a great deal of backstabbing, it also meant cooperation on occasion—doing favors for other powerful priestesses, even as extensive as a scheme like this, was sometimes necessary. This was a particularly beneficial one. She had the opportunity to gain something she wanted and the same could be said of her partner.

Not that this was the only web Yvonnel was spinning at the moment. She was constantly plucking at people's strings. As Revered Daughter, having her hands in everything was a part of the job description. She ministered to perhaps the largest spy network in Menzoberranzan, extended and withdrew support to different factions as needed, hunted heretics and enemies of the drow, and otherwise maintained the difficult balance that was the drow way of life. It took a woman of unparalleled attentiveness to detail and patience nearing sainthood, but Yvonnel always seemed to rise to the occasion. This was no exception.

"The damage to her memory could be problematic," the woman in the mirror said.

"I've consulted with our resident experts on the subject of psionics," Yvonnel replied. The older inquisitors, those she'd questioned carefully on the subject, knew better than to ask why she was asking. With one glaring exception in the form of Sabal A'Daragon, they knew their place as servants of Lloth. "They assure me that such memories can be restored with prompting, though perhaps never completely. But that in and of itself may make her more malleable than she would have otherwise been. Now, she's alone and vulnerable, inclined to bond closely to people that show her kindness. Lythrana Armgo will certainly do that."

"It's always distressing when people fail to learn from the mistakes of others. Not that she remembers, of course, so I suppose it can be forgiven." Ruby eyes studied Yvonnel in a contemplative manner. "She was once acquainted with an illustrative lesson in the dangers of unchecked affection."

"Well, I certainly hope she didn't acquire the tendency from them, or this may be slightly more painful than intended," Yvonnel said.

The woman in the mirror laughed. "It's sweet that you were thinking of minimizing pain."

"What can I say? I'm a thoughtful woman at heart," Yvonnel said with a smile. "Consider it pragmatism. If we succeed, she will be a force to be reckoned with—a force I do not intend to have turn against me while she is in Menzoberranzan. Once she's reached you, she will be your problem to contend with."

"I do admire your practicality. It's one of the reasons I thought of you when this opportunity arose," she said. "I can't think of anyone more capable of shaping her future in the right direction. As you say, she'll be a force to be reckoned with. The Matron Mother will be very pleased, right up until the moment she isn't."

Yvonnel raised her glass. "To unpleasant surprises for unpleasant people," she said by way of toast.

"Yvonnel, darling, you realize you are one of those unpleasant people, don't you?" the woman in the mirror said sweetly, looking very much amused.

"Oh yes. My day wouldn't be complete without one or two unpleasant things. Keeps things interesting," Yvonnel said. She heard a muted knock at the door and sighed. "Speak of the devil and it will appear... I'll keep you updated on our progress. Please excuse me."

The image on the mirror wavered and vanished. Yvonnel found her reflection looking back at her now that the spell had dissipated. "Enter!" she called. Part of her wanted to scowl when the door slammed open, but she knew to keep a neutral expression. She knew who this particular temper tantrum was without turning around. Yes, Yvonnel had a great many people at various times who were irritated or even furious with her and Lloth's most devoted servants, but very few of them were willing to actively demonstrate that displeasure. It was almost exclusively Matrons, and more particularly the eight upper houses at that. Lesser Matrons seldom forgot how precarious she could make their position. A temper tantrum from Mez'Barris, however, was almost to be expected. She lacked restraint. It was a quality that made her useful sometimes and incredibly obnoxious often.

"Do you want to explain to me why my shipments of spell components were seized?" Mez'Barris demanded.

"Not particularly, but I imagine you have no intention of leaving despite that," Yvonnel said, fighting the urge to sigh again. She sipped her wine to help the sour taste in her mouth. "Does the word 'contraband' mean anything to you, Matron?"

"Those were not for common usage in the city. Those were for private guards," Mez'Barris hissed. "I do not need your permission to do anything, Yvonnel. I am Matron Mother of this city's second house."

Yvonnel stood up. "Yes, and a woman who has violated the city's prohibitions on dealing with Vhaeraunites. My affection for you is flickering like a candle flame, Matron. I beg that you not extinguish it completely," she said calmly, ignoring the curl of the woman's lip. "Regrettably, those components will be held by the Yath'Abban while we investigate the source. I suggest you hide your supplier—perhaps under a rock, where spineless things belong—and forego further dealings with the heretical sect who have holed up in Baereghel. I have no intention of releasing those shipments to you, Matron."

"They are mine and I will have them!" Mez'Barris snarled. She was a tall, powerful woman in armor and yet Yvonnel didn't feel particularly intimidated. The Revered Daughter wasn't the world's greatest caster or most proficient warrior, but she wielded the favor of Lloth like a weapon and Mez'Barris knew it. That was probably the only reason the Matron Mother hadn't done something too rash.

"I know a woman like you is unused to disappointment, Matron, but I assure you that it's a natural feeling and one you'll become accustomed to with practice. This can be your first go of it," Yvonnel said.

Mez'Barris glared, crimson eyes narrowed. "The old Matron Baenre should have stamped you out with the rest of your family," she said.

"And succeed she did not, which should speak volumes about your chances should you decide to try your luck at it," the Revered Daughter said dryly. She glanced over Mez'Barris's shoulder to where two of her inquisitors were waiting. She focused on the older woman in the pair. A more experienced and level head was just what was needed. "Nendra, if you would be so kind as to escort the lovely Matron of Barrison Del'Armgo out?"

"Of course, Revered Daughter," the female inquisitor said, neutral expression flashing reluctant for a moment.

"I am not some servant you can banish at whim, Yvonnel," Mez'Barris said sharply.

"You are wasting your own time, Matron, not mine," Yvonnel said even though she could feel her own time being wasted acutely, like the slow ravage of a disease. While it was satisfying to know she had plunged a knife into Mez'Barris's heel, it was annoying to have to actually deal with the woman herself. Still, if the Goddess was kind, Mez'Barris would reap what she was sowing. "If you would like, you may direct your complaints to Quenthel Baenre and the rest of the ruling council."

Mez'Barris glowered. There was a snowball's chance in hell of that. She wasn't going to admit she was unable to bend Yvonnel X'larraz'et'soj, a houseless upstart, to her will. None of them were. It was one of the main reasons Yvonnel could get away with half the things she did: the hubris of the nobility. Mez'Barris turned on her heel and stalked out after Nendra.

Yvonnel waited until Mez'Barris was out of earshot—more out of a desire to keep the quiet than to spare the Matron's feelings—to say, "Don't mind her. It's the impotent rage of a woman blissfully unaware that she's nearly outlived her usefulness. Did you have something for me, Nalfein?"

The blue-eyed male stepped in, his brow furrowed. "I came to ask you why I was removed from the investigation of the Vhaeraunite compound in Baereghel, Revered Daughter, if that is not excessively forward of a question," he said quietly. "I realize that your time is a precious resource on days like this."

The Revered Daughter smiled. She appreciated male drow, particularly those with manners. In many ways, they were so much easier to deal with. As selfish, vengeful, treacherous, and dangerous as female drow, but rarely as entitled. "I have another purpose for you," she said with a faint smile. "Nendra and Selakiir are more than capable of handling the investigation. I want you to keep an eye on someone. Under no circumstance are you to contact them or directly approach them, but I do want you to gather information."

"Of course, Revered Daughter. Who am I to be surveilling?" he asked.

"Revered Lythrana of Barrison Del'Armgo. Tedious, I know, but I have an interest," Yvonnel said. It was delicate work, what she was doing now. She needed to maneuver him into position and let his failings do the rest. It was a simple task. Rarely did she assign anyone anything excessively complicated. Little parts were simply accomplished, and each little part completed contributed to a grand whole. In many ways, Yvonnel's was also a mechanical mind. The difference was that her parts were people and her mechanism, the whole world.

Nalfein's eyes flickered, the only sign on his face that he had registered an emotional response to that name. He was good at hiding his emotions. Just not quite good enough to fool the ever-sharp eyes of Yvonnel. "Understood, Revered Daughter. May I inquire as to why?"

"You may certainly inquire," Yvonnel said, walking over to her desk. "I will not, however, be satisfying that curiosity. It has come to my attention that Revered Lythrana has hired a bodyguard. I suggest you start there, but I plan on keeping my hands somewhat off this investigation. As you can see, I now have a fairly significant problem in Baereghel and Mez'Barris's unfortunate entanglements. She is not the only one in the city flying in the face of the dictates against dealing with heretics, but she's certainly the most…audible."

"Understood, Revered Daughter," Nalfein said with a bow. "I will do my utmost to perform my task to your satisfaction."

"See that you do. And remember, I want Lythrana to have no indication of our interest. Keep eyes on her and ears open, but keep your distance as well," Yvonnel said. Every word was carefully calculated, but came out sounding as natural as breathing. "Now go."

When he turned his back and walked out, she allowed herself a small smile. Another seed planted. Now to wait, water as needed, and then watch it bloom. Yvonnel liked to believe she'd elevated patience to an art form. Really, it was the main thing needed for great success. As the humans said, good things came to those who waited.

What came to everyone else as a result was not typically good things.

* * *

"I can never tell what's going through your head, Thraele," Lythrana said with a small smile, though her eyes didn't move from watching the flames of the forge change color as the duergar attendants added different fuel. "Yes, just like that. The fire should be hot enough now." Abyssal bloodiron was notoriously hard to work with, but Lythrana had been researching and perfecting the techniques necessary for years. It gave her house an undeniable advantage on the front of weaponry and arms for elite troops, but her family were not keen on a noble getting covered in dirt and doing hard labor better left for servants and slaves, particularly a priestess. The Matron Mother did everything in her power to dissuade Lythrana from working, but odds were that even if the young noble was imprisoned, she would continue sketching out her designs on the cell wall with a loose piece of iron from her chains. It was incredibly galling to her sisters as well.

Thraele, however, saw the same thing that Uthegental had seen when he was alive: Lythrana was really only happy when she was working on one of her pet projects. She was a naturally talented caster and a decent warrior, but those things brought her no pleasure. They were duties, obligations, things that she did when she had to. "We are perhaps envious," Thraele said with a faint smile. She was sitting on one of the barrels of water that wasn't in use for forging. "Few are free to follow their passions."

Lythrana laughed. "I do it out of spite," she said with a smile as the duergar smiths started to hammer out the pieces of her design. She usually did the fine work herself, particularly when small details were important, but she knew the Matron would have her head if she was ever caught doing the grunt work. "Nothing seems to upset the others more. Though, I would say I'm only free by virtue of being almost the youngest. If I wasn't so scandalizing, I think the Matron would honestly forget I existed."

"And we couldn't have that," her bodyguard said, amused. Thraele found herself pleased that she'd taken the job. It had been a month or two, but already she was enjoying the strange feeling of camaraderie. She couldn't remember every having had a friend, but she imagined that this was how it felt. Lythrana's general cheer and good nature reminded her of Malagos, Sindyrrith, Alassëa, and even Nek. It made her time with Deu'ra seem all that much further away, like an unpleasant dream.

Lythrana shrugged. "So what did you do yesterday while I was trapped with family?" she asked. Thraele had unexpectedly gotten a few free hours when Mez'Barris demanded her daughter's time—to drag her over the metaphorical coals, of course—and been left to her own devices. That and when Lythrana was in the temple of Lloth was the sum of Thraele's free time. Being a bodyguard was demanding, but there were far, far worse people to guard.

"We saw a friend," Thraele said. She had been meeting Nalfein regularly for the past few weeks. There was something about the blue-eyed male that made her smile still. The strange worries she'd had about herself gradually faded into something far more comfortable…and comforting. He was a friendly face in a city with few of those. Her days with Lythrana also brought her closer to the ugliness of Menzoberranzan than she had imagined they would. In hindsight, it was to be expected, but the absolute malice of Lythrana's sisters was a little surprising. "Out of curiosity, do you know a Nalfein?" The male had asked about Lythrana on a few occasions and she had given him a vague appraisal of her mistress's character, keeping private details and conversations to herself.

"Nalfein…what does he look like?" Lythrana asked as she unrolled a bundle of files, rasps, and other tools for more finely shaping the various materials she worked with. "I know more than one male with that name."

"Nalfein Zaphresz. He has blue eyes—" Thraele stopped there, noticing the self-conscious smile that flashed across Lythrana's face. They hadn't known each other long, but she was getting good at reading the noble's expression. There was something significant in that one. "What?"

"I knew him—of him, really—at Arach-Tinilith. Inquisitors go through rigorous religious instruction, so we inhabited the same circles for quite a while. I was the odd one out because of my little hobbies, so I never actually spoke to him, but he was very handsome and very charming," Lythrana said as she waited for the first piece come off the forge. It was hard to just stand back and watch, but even with a trip hammer she didn't feel like she was strong enough to do the work herself, if only because she wasn't allowed to work hard enough to build the necessary muscle.

"You never spoke to him after the Academy?" Thraele asked curiously. Then again, that seemed like Lythrana's kind of thing. Her employer/friend wasn't always excellent with words, particularly when emotion was involved. Getting her temper up could render her inarticulate almost immediately, which was fortunately rare. Thraele was willing to wager that even more positive feelings left Lythrana a little overwhelmed. "It seems to us that a noble has the power to command attention."

"He's an inquisitor. They can't exactly become consorts," Lythrana said. As soon as the words came out and registered in her mind, she covered her mouth with a hand. The priestess looked so mortified that the former thrall knew they had not been an intentional answer. Occasionally, the barrier between Lythrana's mind and her mouth slipped low, allowing things to escape.

Thraele grinned in amusement.

"Shut up," Lythrana muttered, shooting her a glare. "Besides, I wouldn't want to command his attention. I'd rather have it given."

"A strange thought for a noble," Thraele commented.

"I'm a strange noble. We've established that much already," Lythrana said. She broke from her conversation just long enough to warn, "It's getting brittle! Go carefully!"

The duergar called back their comprehension in their own tongue, which Lythrana actually had an excellent grasp of. It was something else that she and Thraele shared. Both of them were almost more comfortable with non-drow than they were with other drow. Lythrana looked faintly worried about the quality of the metal and how they were handling it, but she gave them a nod even though they didn't look up to see it. She approved of their commitment to their work.

Lythrana turned to Thraele in order to distract herself from what was going on. If she fretted too much, she would try to micromanage it, and that never got her what she wanted. These smiths knew her well enough to know exactly what she wanted and she needed to trust them to do their best. The House was paying them enough to make it worth their while...at her insistence. "What prompted the question, anyway?"

"He has been asking us about you," Thraele answered honestly. She hadn't read anything dark or deceptive into Nalfein's inquiries.

"Wait, you see him?" the noble said, surprised. "When?"

"Now and again, when we wish to train. We have his standing invitation to make use of the training gym in the Yath'Abban barracks," the former thrall explained. "Sindyrrith recommended that he show us the city, and we have kept in contact since."

"And he asked about me?" Lythrana said cautiously.

"You don't believe us," the former thrall observed.

"Thraele, of all the nobles he'd be curious about, you have to admit that I'm not exactly the obvious choice," Lythrana said. She looked thoughtful. "Why do you think he's asking?"

Thraele pondered that for a moment. It had taken her time to place the look on Nalfein's face, but she had eventually found its like: the look Malagos gave Alassëa whenever she wasn't watching. Sindyrrith had called it 'unabashed longing' in her teasing way, but there was certainly truth to that observation. She understood what the sentiment was about. "He is interested in you, we think," Thraele said. "One way or another."

Lythrana took a deep breath in, feeling reassured by the smell of smoke and hot metal. "Let me think about that for a while," she said thoughtfully, almost hopefully. "And then I might have to ask you to find out in exactly what way he's interested."

"We live to serve," Thraele promised. She had thought that after Deu'ra, she would never wish to tie herself to anyone ever again, but Lythrana was turning out to be a good sort. Thraele was starting not to hate her current life, a far cry from her time with Deu'ra. There were people in it that she actually liked. A burning question still existed at the center of her heart, but it was no longer the only thought she entertained. Maybe Menzoberranzan and life in it was life enough.

The drow noble offered her a small smile. "Thank you, Thraele. It's appreciated."


	6. The Bargain

Thraele looked puzzled as she flipped the package over in her hands. "What is this?" she asked before looking up at Alassëa. They were at Sindyrrith's house, so the elf was temporarily undisguised. Alassëa spent very little time in the city proper and only if it couldn't be avoided, but she stopped by this place fairly regularly now with Malagos and Nek. The cleric had brought the former thrall her share of the money for the job with Dresmorlin, which Thraele had then secreted away in a special safe concealed in the dining room's south wall.

"A gift, obviously," the elf said with a wide smile. "Open it. I promise it won't bite."

The former thrall nodded and undid the wrapping to reveal a book bound in leather. She opened it almost automatically and saw lines of verse. It was both recognizable and, more surprisingly, readable. She hadn't realized that the drow had poetry. "Poems?" she said curiously, studying it. "Why poems?"

"I thought you might like a little something beautiful to remind you that not everything has to be ugly, as it so often is down in the Underdark," Alassëa said with a smile. "Besides, it'll give you something to read in the rare event that you have time to kill."

"How cruel to time," Thraele said with amusement, looking down at the book in her hands. She brushed her fingertips across the paper thoughtfully. There was something familiar and comforting about it.

— _her head tucked under a chin, little body curled in a lap, eyes wide in wonder at the life-like illustrations of Underdark flora and fauna. She brushed her tiny hand over the picture of the giant arachnid. "Spi-der!" she exclaimed, pleased. The world seemed so…safe. She felt secure when she was tucked in this person's arms. She was conscious that they were moving, maybe in the back of a wagon or something, but the world was still enough._

 _"Yes, d'anthe, that's a spider," a warm female voice said with undeniable amusement. Long, dark fingers flipped to the next page. "What's this one?"_

 _"Svirf-neb-lin!" she chirped excitedly at the small, gnomish figures carrying pickaxes as they headed into a mine, each one rendered in almost painstaking detail. Her mother had made the book just for her, drawing out each page by hand. She had watched her mother work with fascination, frequently trying to grab at the hand that was making those careful lines. She was always thwarted, unfortunately._

 _"Very good," that same warm voice said. Her mother. She recognized it. This was the voice that always soothed whenever she was frightened, the voice that made even the light seem less terrifying._

 _"Mistress, we're almost there," a rough male voice said from the side. She looked up to see the craggy face of a duergar, his grey skin weathered by age, turned back to face them. Past him she thought she could see lizards pulling the wagon._

 _"Good," her mother said. "Just remember—"_

Thraele blinked as the vision ended, but gave no sign other than her slight pause. It was a good memory, one that left her feeling a faint warmth. Someone had once cared about her very much. Even if she remembered nothing other than that, it was a good memory. "Thank you, Alassëa. It is appreciated. What are the poems about?" she said.

Alassëa didn't seem to mind or maybe even notice the hesitation. "Well, they're actually songs. Verses. Eilistraee's followers collect things like that. She is a goddess of music and art as much as of good. Most of them were actually written by faithful clerics, but not about Eilistraee. They're about other things. Life, the Underdark, people…really, you'll have to read them and decide for yourself what they're really about," the elf answered. "Oh, that reminds me, I need to go meet Nek and Sin. They said they found something interesting in some ruins to the south—I guess they want me to take a look at it. It's only an hour or two from the city, so I don't expect it to take all night, provided you don't have to run back to House Barrison Del'Armgo. It's nice to see you, when I get the chance."

Thraele didn't look up from the book when she made her decision. This was a thoughtful gift. It deserved some kind of answering gesture. "Is Malagos going with you?"

"No, he doesn't like getting too close to Eilistraee's drow priestesses…or any female drow, for that matter. They make him nervous," Alassëa said. "Which I can certainly understand, knowing what I know now."

"He likes Sin well enough," Thraele commented. The drow agent and their fighter weren't exactly thick as thieves, but they were always pleasant towards each other and seemed to get along just fine.

"She saved my life and has no interest in him occupying her bed at any point in time—he's not her type," the cleric said with a little shrug. She stood up. "That seems to be enough for him to grudgingly accept her. Same reason he gets along with you."

"He is indeed safe from us. Well, have a safe expedition," Thraele said thoughtfully, closing the book. She was carefully considering her plan. "We will keep it with us and read. Perhaps we will have things to discuss once we have read it."

Alassëa smiled. "I hope so. That's how you know it's a good book," she said. "Take care of yourself, Thraele. It's always nice to see you, even if it isn't often. And who knows? Maybe this book will stir something up. It has a fair bit about the Underdark's history and locales. Something might trigger a memory."

"Yes," Thraele said softly, brushing her fingers across the book's cover. She had pursed her lips in a pensive way. "Perhaps it will."

After Alassëa left, she started to read. She read until her eyes no longer wanted to focus, until her head started to pound. Stories of the Underdark, of secret places and lost treasures and great deeds, spun around in her mind as she drank in each word like a woman dying of thirst. This was history that she had been missing—her history as much as the world's. After all, she was drow. She had come from this, hadn't she? However briefly, however implausibly, she felt connected to something. It was almost like she had roots, at least for a little while. The feeling was intoxicating. She wasn't certain how long she'd been reading, because as soon as she reached the end, she began again. Anything to cling to that precious sense of belonging for a few moments more. Her head snapped up when she heard approaching feet with a heavy tread. It was Malagos, she knew even before she looked up. No one else would tromp through Sin's house like some kind of blunt instrument.

"You look pretty intense," the half orc said. "Enjoying Alassëa's gift?"

"Yes," Thraele said, though she set the book aside and rubbed her aching eyes. "How long have we been reading?"

"Few hours. I'm amazed Lythrana let you off the leash that long," Malagos commented, grinning a little. His expression was crooked, like he wasn't really made for smiling. His tusks got in the way.

"Lythrana is with the Matron, and the Matron objects to the presence of guards she does not have her hooks in," Thraele said by way of explanation. "We are supposed to return at Narbondel's descent."

"You've got an hour or two still, then," Malagos said as he eased himself down into a chair. He moved like he was sore, which likely meant he'd just come from the fights. It was an easy way to win coin that kept him in prime shape, as he liked to put it. It was a form of entertainment that didn't involve ending up in a female drow's bed…most of the time. Malagos was well aware that he had the draw of novelty, which could be enough to pull the attention of a bored drowess. Invariably, they were never the kind of woman he wanted paying attention to him. His relative ugliness got him out of most scrapes like that, though.

Thraele leaned back and studied Malagos. "We are surprised you did not go with Alassëa. It is not common to see you ever far from her side."

Malagos raised a thick eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"We are merely making an observation," Thraele said mildly before adding, "Should it mean something, Malagos?"

"No," he grunted, his yellow eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. Any time a drow started to sound innocent, something was afoot. Even Thraele—who was about as guileless as her people could get, as far as he could tell—was not to be trusted with that tone in her voice.

The drowess studied him for a long moment, one long enough that he started to fidget a little bit. There was something about Thraele's eyes that made him just a little bit uncomfortable. It wasn't frightening or angering, but it was…off-putting. It was like looking at a light that was just a little bit too bright or into a shadow that was just a little bit too deep. The intensity was unnerving. Worse, she was giving no indication of what she suddenly found so fascinating about him.

"Got something on my face?" he asked finally.

"Malagos, about Alassëa…" Thraele started carefully. She owed the elf for this gift and with that came the natural drow dislike for owing anyone anything. "We have a curiosity. Why do you stay with Alassëa? She is very dangerous to be around, following Eilistraee as she does. Being an elf."

"She's my friend," Malagos said automatically.

Thraele heard phantom stirrings at the back of her thoughts. _Love._ Had someone once loved her? She barely knew what the word meant. But she could recognize it even if she couldn't define it. It was there, in Malagos's face. Not just attraction, not just lust, but a strange softness to his blocky, bestial features at only the mention of the elf's name. "She is more than a friend to you," Thraele said quietly.

"Thraele—" Malagos started warningly.

"We know that she doesn't know," Thraele said with that same level of precaution. Malagos was dangerous, after all. She had seen what he could do to people with even his bare hands, and his eyes were now narrowed even further at her, his nostrils flaring. "But perhaps it is possible that she could know, and that this would not result in pain."

Malagos sighed and slumped back into his chair. He wasn't exactly relaxed, but he was at least less tense with anger. He seemed…defeated. "She's way out of my league, Thraele," he muttered.

"We know Alassëa," she said. "She sees a better world, a different world. She sees the best of people. She certainly sees the best of you."

The half orc lowered his gaze, avoiding eye contact with Thraele. "If she were interested, she would have made a move by now," Malagos said. "I've done my best to make myself appealing, to give her the opportunity."

Thraele frowned at him. "Alassëa is not drow, Malagos. Is it customary for women to initiate courtship on the surface?"

"No," Malagos admitted. The half orc ran his fingers through his salt-colored hair. "You don't understand, Thraele. You don't remember what drow women are like. Every time I try to say something or do something, I just…it's like they beat it out of me."

She set her book away to the side, though she was almost reluctant to let go of the volume. "Give us time and we will provide you with an opportunity to show Alassëa what she means to you. We must do…research. But we have the shadow of an idea," Thraele said, offering him a small smile.

"Thraele, she's—" His words died when those intense eyes glared at him.

"She is a very good woman, but she is still mortal, Malagos. That means she is not unattainable," the drowess said. "And we think you will find that hers is a heart that wants to be reached. Now, trust us. We act now as your agent."

"Why help me?" Malagos asked.

"Because Deu'ra is dead and we have not forgotten that. You have been kindness itself to us," Thraele said. She tapped her book. "We did not demand this. This was freely and gladly given. This is a debt to be repaid."

* * *

"Have you ever made jewelry?" Thraele asked her mistress as Lythrana set about working on a small part. The metal was still glowing red with heat, so the noble was wearing enchanted, heat-resistant gloves as she began the fine detail work of notching the piece in the appropriate places. It was for an arcane device that one of her brothers was working on with her, an artifice designed to measure and identify ambient magical energies with more precision than a caster's rough sense.

"I do sometimes, as gifts or when I'm feeling artistic," Lythrana said. She sounded a little distracted, but Thraele knew that was just because she was focusing on her work. The noble could multi-task well enough that she didn't mind people talking to her. However, her determination and focus were such that her project was always first and foremost in her mind. "Why, did you want a piece? You'll have to forgive my surprise, but you don't strike me as much of one for jewelry."

"We are not, but we have a friend who is seeking to win over the affections of a woman, an outlander," Thraele said. "We have done some reading and rings have significance on the surface."

"Attempting to charm a slave? Please tell me this isn't Nalfein," Lythrana said, looking up from her work. She'd almost taken a divot out of her own finger, slipping from surprise and apprehension.

"No, Malagos, and the object of his affections is not a slave. She is a fellow adventurer, a human woman," Thraele explained. She'd never really told Lythrana much about her friends, but a few stories had slipped out now and then.

Lythrana nodded a little bit, trying her best not to look relieved. "The only surface designs that I have as patterns came off elvish jewelry taken in raids. Would one of those work?"

"Certainly," her bodyguard said with a smile. "We are in your debt, Lythrana."

"I plan on making use of you for something not covered by your duty to protect me, so we'll call it even," Lythrana said. She bit her lower lip thoughtfully as she looked down at her work and resumed cutting arcane designs into the metal. "I want to…"

Thraele spotted it the moment the noble's nerve failed. It would take some gentle nudging to get this out of the artificer. "Lythrana, whatever it is, we would be glad to assist."

"Do you really think Nalfein is interested in me?" Lythrana asked as she carved the final line. The effect was immediate, a low hum filling the air as the metal piece attuned itself to its surroundings. The power of the forge was almost overwhelming the delicate instrument, but it was safe for the moment as she worked on assembly now, bending and fitting pieces of metal together. The end result would look like a spherical astrolabe, if one glowing faintly with magical energies and attuned to the Weave.

Thraele smiled faintly. "Yes," she said. "And you want to pursue him."

Lythrana rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of ash grey on the side of her face. "I…" she started, words collecting in her throat. "Yes. I'd like that. There's no one I trust more to help, too."

The former thrall smiled at that. Trust, Sindyrrith had explained to her, was a rare and fragile thing. To hold anyone else's was rare in the Underdark. Then again, she supposed she was beginning to trust Lythrana as well. The forge was quiet enough for them to hear the guards nearby snap to attention at someone's approach. Thraele leaned slightly to look. "It's your mother," she reported to the noble.

Lythrana cursed, setting aside her project and ripping off her gloves. She went to smooth out her white hair, but realized her hands were dirty and stopped before she could make contact. She looked disheveled and overheated, but there was nothing she could do now. She would have pleaded for Thraele to do something, but she knew there would be no stopping the Matron in a mood. Anger was the only thing that motivated Mez'Barris to come into the reeking, hot forges.

"What _do_ you think you're doing?" the Matron's imperious voice demanded. Mez'Barris stalked down the few steps to Lythrana's work station, her lip curling slightly as she took in the sight of her daughter.

"Matron, I—"

"You are a priestess, Lythrana!" Mez'Barris snarled. Her temper had been viciously high ever since she'd dealt with Yvonnel. Dresmorlin had been useless as a distraction, which only inflamed her anger more. Now, the brunt of it was about to hit one of her customary punching bags: Lythrana. "I've seen goblins cleaner than you right now! You spend hours down in this stinking hole, slaving over bits of meaningless metal! I did not pour blood and gold into your future for you to throw it away doing work better suited to the filthy duergar you spend all your time with!"

Lythrana took it in silence, muted like a stone. The words always abandoned her, even as her gaze started to burn with resentment. She moved to block the Matron's path to her project, knowing that Mez'Barris would gladly break things that she'd made to prove a point. When the Matron stepped forward towards her instead, she flinched involuntarily in anticipation of a blow.

Thraele interposed herself between Mez'Barris and Lythrana, ignoring the knowledge that it would likely make things even more unpleasant. "Matron," she said curtly, almost as if greeting the woman. She didn't lower her eyes obediently or deferentially, meeting that furious crimson gaze head-on. It broke Mez'Barris out of her full rage with the power of shock.

"Who do you think you are?" Mez'Barris demanded. She'd never met Thraele or spoken to her, only catching glimpses of her as a silent sentinel at Lythrana's side at a distance. This was not what she expected.

"Your daughter's guardian, Matron," Thraele said, eyes glowing in the firelight of the forge. Her tone was not blunt, but not far from it either. "Against _all_ threats."

Mez'Barris laughed, amusement touching the corners of her eyes. Her gaze was subtly appraising as well, as if she was trying to measure exactly how much of a threat her daughter's bodyguard was. "Do it again, and I'll take your head," the Matron Mother said. She looked past Thraele to her daughter. "You could learn a thing or two from your hired thug, Lythrana, instead of standing there like a useless lump. I expect you at dinner. If you aren't bathed and presentable by then, I'll have you flayed." With that, the Matron stalked off in search of the next victim to vent her irritation on.

"Thank you, Thraele," Lythrana said softly once her mother was well out of earshot. "You didn't have to do that."

Thraele shrugged. It had been a risky maneuver, but Lythrana was the closest thing to a friend she could ever remember having, though Nalfein was quickly becoming another. "We were confident that she would not do grievous injury." She actually hadn't been confident of that, but she had been well aware that a blow to the side of Mez'Barris's head with that set of pliers would be very much lethal. Not that she was prepared to deal with the consequences of that action, such as Tathlyn becoming Matron. The eldest daughter of House Barrison Del'Armgo was even more temperamental than her mother, which would make her an incredibly volatile Matron Mother. Mez'Barris backing off had been the best possible outcome.

"I think she has more respect for you now," Lythrana commented. "I'm not sure if that's good or bad. I mean, with respect comes attention."

"Indeed," a different voice said from the steps. Dresmorlin looked horribly out of place in the forges, his robes impeccably clean and neat. "And not all of that attention is the Matron's."

Lythrana glared. "Don't you have someone else to bother?" she said. "I think I've had all the sneering condescension I can take."

Dresmorlin cleared his throat. "I'm not here to condescend, Lythrana. I'm actually here to make your bodyguard an offer," he said smoothly. "Citizenship in Menzoberranzan, as a member of House Barrison Del'Armgo. It will be as a commoner, but you may find it offers you a certain level of protection that being houseless does not."

"It would royally piss off the Matron," Lythrana commented. "Unless, of course, she was in on it."

"And we are to expect that this comes from the goodness of your heart?" Thraele said, her skepticism plainly evident.

"Not at all. You're both dangerous women. Thraele perhaps moreso than you, Lythrana, since you're so distracted from the pulse of power in Menzoberranzan," Dresmorlin said. "I'd rather be on your side than in your sights, quite honestly."

"And it has nothing to do with the amount of control you would then be able to exert over her? Not to mention the Matron having hooks in her," Lythrana objected with narrowed eyes.

"Lythrana—" Dresmorlin started in his most reasonable tone.

"You're the Matron's snake at heart, Dresmorlin. Go away." With that snappish comment, the priestess-turned-artificer focused her full attention back on her work.

"Respectfully, Lythrana, this is not your decision," he said before expectantly looking at Thraele, who was evaluating the offer carefully.

It would grant her security, yes, but most certainly at the price of freedom. Perhaps she could struggle her way up in the ranks through Lythrana's good graces, but what would that mean giving up? The ability to leave Menzoberranzan at will, for one. As Lythrana rightly pointed out, it would also tie her with invisible strings to the will of a Matron Mother. Thus far, she had escaped that. "We are not interested," Thraele said coolly, studying Dresmorlin intently. He was most certainly a snake.

"We're popular today," Lythrana muttered at the sound of another approach. The moment Dresmorlin saw who it was, he excused himself with a mutter.

A female figure dressed in dark armor with a crimson sash stepped down, symbol of Lloth emblazoned on her chest. Lythrana stiffened slightly, as most priestesses did when confronted with the servants of Lloth so often tasked with reminding them who they served in the most ferocious way possible. Thraele offered the woman a small smile. "Inquisitor Ssambra," the former thrall greeted. She had met Nendra on several occasions when training with Nalfein. Their meetings were always cordial and sometimes almost friendly.

"Revered Lythrana, would it be acceptable if I took the place of your bodyguard for a few hours? An acquaintance, Bruthwol, is waiting for her at the Jewel Box. It's a tavern at the south edge of the Bazaar, Thraele." Nendra's tone made it sound more certain than the average request.

Lythrana inclined her head, well aware how dangerous it could be to meddle in the affairs of the Yath'Abban. She didn't like it and she didn't trust Nendra, but saying no wasn't a viable option.

"Guard her well," Thraele said before bowing her head to Lythrana and departing. She wove her way through Menzoberranzan's streets to the Jewel Box, her thoughts churning. What the hell was Bruthwol doing outside of Gracklstugh? Why would he want her of all people? Nek was his general go-to. And why would Nendra be involved?

Thraele had a very bad feeling in her stomach by the time she reached the tavern and approached the owner, a one-legged and retired battlemage named Nym. "We are here to see Bruthwol," she said quietly.

"Upstairs, first door on the right," Nym said, glancing over her shoulder as if trying to spot the second person he thought she was talking about. Seeing no one, he shook his head. "Go on up."

The door was unlocked and waiting for her, but when she opened the door, it was not Bruthwol waiting for her at the small table. It was a woman, a priestess, in spidersilk robes. On her hands were many rings, each one bearing a powerful enchantment, and her crimson eyes were evaluating. Even without having Deu'ra's powers, she knew she was in the presence of a mind like his—dominatingly powerful. Not psionic, just overwhelmingly forceful. Her gaze cut like a scalpel blade.

"Welcome, Thraele," the woman said, gesturing for her to have a seat. "We haven't met, but I know a lot about you. Perhaps you know about me as well. My name is Yvonnel X'larraz'et'soj, Revered Daughter of Lloth."

"Revered Daughter," Thraele said with a bow before taking the seat. "What can we do for you?"

"I have a deal you might be interested in," Yvonnel said as she poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle standing on the table. "Would you care for a drink?"

"No thank you," the former thrall said a bit tersely.

"Very well, though I hope you will reconsider. It's an excellent vintage. All the way from Erelhei-Cinlu," Yvonnel said.

That name stirred a longing in Thraele. Was it possible to be homesick for a place she could not remember? "What is the topic of our conversation to be?"

"Power," the Revered Daughter said. "I'm certain you've heard the word bandied about often in Menzoberranzan's upper echelons. Few understand what the true thing looks like, as it always moves behind the scenes. I want to talk to you about a particular kind of power."

"We are listening."

"The power to play queen-maker is more precious than any gold," Yvonnel said, sipping from her wine and studying the quiet drowess across from her. "You like Lythrana Barrison Del'Armgo. She has no prospects on her own, not as fourth daughter. She lacks the ambition to murder her sisters as she should, but she possesses all the other qualities of a good, faithful Matron. Think of the gift you would bestow on her, shaping history in her favor. Hasn't she been a friend to you when you needed one most?"

"A Matron you could control," Thraele said pointedly.

"A Matron in service to the Spider Queen. But you underestimate Lythrana's backbone, I think. She is very wary of the Church's authority, which is why I will need something else from you that goes above and beyond mutual cooperation," the Revered Daughter said. "You know of the deep and abiding affection she has for Nalfein Zaphresz. I need you to encourage that romance. Do everything in your power to make it flower."

"Why?" Thraele said quietly. She wasn't certain that kind of intervention would end well.

"My reasons are my own," Yvonnel said patiently. "And in return for these favors, Thraele, I will reward you with something a little more tangible than gratitude—I'll tell you who was responsible for your lovely stay with the once charming Deu'ra and offer you my help in your efforts towards revenge."

"Someone did that to us purposefully?" Thraele demanded, barely keeping her voice from cracking. It should have surprised her, but some deep and hidden part of her felt the vindication of being right, as if it had known it was a trap.

"Of course," Yvonnel said. "You were a dangerous woman, Thraele, with powerful foes."

"How do you know all this?" Thraele said, her voice heavy with suspicion.

The Revered Daughter laughed. "Because I was the contact you were to meet in Menzoberranzan, the one to be responsible for seeing you trained properly. When you failed to appear, I did some investigating. I couldn't find you, but I did find out who was poking around looking for proof of death. Bruthwol's mention that you arrived with a dead mindflayer named Deu'ra answered my enduring question of what happened to you."

"Bruthwol...you're the one who hired us to take down Dresmorlin."

"It was never about Dresmorlin, Thraele. I play the long game." Yvonnel finished her wine with a final sip. "Think about it. I don't expect you to automatically accept my offer, nor even necessarily accept it at all. But if you tell anyone about our little chat…well, actions have consequences. I find such things have ways of sorting themselves out."

"Understood," Thraele said quietly. "And if we should accept, will we meet with you again?"

"You can hardly afford to risk Nalfein seeing us together if you intend to be successful, Thraele," Yvonnel said with amusement. She set a small, polished disk of silver down on the table, a tiny mirror. "You may use this. The command word is _telanth_. I will hear it."

Thraele picked up the mirror. "You could have many do this thing," she said. "Why choose us?"

"Because they like you. They trust you. That just might give you the edge needed." The cleric of Lloth stood up. "Fare well, in this endeavor and in all others, Thraele. I'll be in touch."

Thraele sat quietly alone at the table, turning the little mirror over in her hands. She had the power to put Nalfein in an excellent position—Lythrana could offer him a great deal more than anyone else could, even if an inquisitor could never become Patron. She could help Lythrana become Matron, and there was little doubt in Thraele's mind that she would be a good one. The former thrall could continue to be the author of other people's success and perhaps even happiness. Power was at her fingertips. It was a better deal than she had any right to ever expect as a houseless agent, even taking into consideration invisible strings and hidden agendas. But…some part of her still was deeply unhappy.

She tucked the mirror away inside her jerkin. She would be a fool not to work with the Revered Daughter, not when the power to make or break a Matron Mother was in her future and not when answers she so desperately craved were a heartbeat away. This was her only chance of becoming the person she was meant to be, the person she had been.


	7. The Mistake

" _Vith!_ Thraele, are you alright?" Nalfein dropped his weapon and knelt down next to her. "I'm sorry."

The drowess put her hand up to her face, hissing when her fingertips came in contact with the long gash that now ran from her temple to her chin on the right side. It was not a clean cut—they'd been using dulled practice blades—which meant it was instead a place where the skin had split from impact. Already her face was beginning to swell. If the dull ache beneath the stinging was any indication, her cheekbone had likely cracked. It was a blow with a lot more force behind it than Nalfein had meant—he'd expected her to leap back rather than attempt a parry and miss. "Head wounds bleed overmuch," Thraele said by way of assurance, ignoring the way the world was a little blurry. "We are fine."

"I'll get a salve," he said, worried. "Stay there."

"No, give us a moment," Thraele said. She held her hand over the wound and reached out to the faint connection she could feel to some other power. It had returned the moment she started to venerate Lloth, in her own clumsy way. It was something she hadn't told anyone about. The prayers came back slowly, but they were embedded deeply in her shattered mind, as if they had been beaten in. Perhaps they had been. Faint wisps of golden light started to form between her hand and her head, slowly healing the wound. It was a tremulous connection to the divine, but one present nonetheless.

Nalfein stopped and stared. "You're a priestess?" he said. There was a definite note of surprise in his voice. Thraele hardly carried herself like one.

"An initiate, an acolyte," Thraele said slowly. "We barely recall Lloth. We can barely feel a connection."

"How do you not…?" Nalfein said, unable to find words to finish the thought. "How do you not remember? Why do you not remember?"

Thraele had never explained to him the reason for the yawning gaps in her memory. It was easier to just excuse it as a fact of spending much time in the wilds or keep it as concealed as possible. Sindyrrith's coaching had served her well in that aspect. She was growing more and more accustomed to pretending, to following norms she still barely had knowledge of. "We were very young when our house fell," she said by way of excuse. "Lloth is not exactly common in the wilds where no one goes. So things have…faded."

Nalfein seemed to accept that answer. He was good about not trying to pry anything out of her that she wasn't willing to tell him on her own initiative. He crouched down next to her and reached out to touch her chin, turning her head so he could see where the wound had been. "You did quite well. Some bruising, but not even a scar," he said.

Thraele felt something in her stomach flutter. It did every time Nalfein touched her like this, which was a rare occasion. Mostly their physical contact was blows or grapples, which were a far more familiar thing. Malagos was working with her as well, training her on how to deal with a larger and stronger opponent with heavier armor. It was entirely possible she could run across such threats protecting Lythrana. "We appreciate the compliment," Thraele said. She could have grabbed his hand and used it to drag him down for a ground-fight, but instead she accepted it when he held it out to help her up. "You should not have stopped. We would have been easy to finish off on the ground."

"I don't need the advantage," Nalfein said cockily even though something approaching concern lingered in his blue eyes.

She grinned and deftly swept his legs out from under him. "We disagree," she said with a laugh, jumping back when he grabbed for her leg from his position on the ground.

Nalfein chuckled and then dodged to his feet, narrowly avoiding a blow from her sword. Any hint of worry was gone from his face. Thraele was back to her normal self, after all. At least, the way she was around him. Their battles were never wholly serious, though there was an underlying drive towards becoming better. He had a feeling he saw more of Thraele's lighter side than most.

They finished their clashing of blades almost an hour later, breath coming ragged in their throats and muscles burning with exertion. "How's Lythrana?" he finally asked as he sat down next to Thraele on the bench, starting to strip off his own armor. She was doing the same, methodically unbuckling each piece.

"You should ask her yourself," Thraele said with a laugh. She didn't understand the male's hesitance to approach her friend.

Nalfein shook his head and focused on removing his greaves. "Please, Thraele."

"She is well," Thraele said. "She has been working hard on the project we requested, but we are ensuring that she remembers to eat and sleep. She asks about you often." She turned to look at Nalfein. "You should speak to her."

"I can't," he said, blue eyes flickering over to her. "I want to, I really do, but I can't."

Thraele almost made a little noise of frustration. He was being more obtuse than even Malagos, who at least spoke to Alassëa even if he wasn't exactly an expert at expressing how he felt. Not that Lythrana was much better. The priestess cited the fact that she turned into a silent statue when confronted with things that made her nervous as evidence for why seeking out Nalfein was a bad idea. They needed some kind of pull out of their respective comfort zones and Thraele was beginning to get a sinking feeling that she was it. If nothing else, she had to make one of them do something besides ask for information. "We will see," she said thoughtfully.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Nalfein asked suspiciously, looking up fully now.

 _We will simply have to convince Lythrana to convince you,_ she thought in answer. Instead, she just smiled innocently at him.

Nalfein growled and tackled her, taking them both to the ground. He was a better grappler than she was, even though she could usually wriggle out of his hold after a moment or two. He could have sworn she was double-jointed or something. Still, he managed to get an effective pin on her after a short but spirited struggle on her part. "Thraele, what are you up to?" he said, keeping his head back so she couldn't go for his eyes. Her wrists were pinned to the ground at an angle where she couldn't muscle her way out and his weight back on her hips was keeping her from twisting out from under him.

Thraele tested his hold. It was unfortunately solid, one of the better ones he'd gotten her into. She blew a strand of hair out of her face, unable to resist a laugh. "We are merely hunting for a Church-sanctioned excuse for you to see her," she said. It wasn't what she'd been planning, but it wasn't a half bad idea now that it had come out of her mouth.

Nalfein sighed. "That one's going to sink before it can even unfurl the sail," he said. "Yvonnel's forbidden that I go anywhere near her." He left off the why, since even he had no idea as to why. He assumed it had something to do with Mez'Barris.

Thraele arched an eyebrow. That was an interesting development given her own instructions from the Revered Daughter, but then again, some small part of her understood. If one told a drow they couldn't have something, it would become all the more interesting. "So move in secret," Thraele said.

"It's not that easy. She has spies everywhere," Nalfein said seriously. He had no intention of becoming the Revered Daughter's newest whipping boy. Displeasing her did not end well—he had seen enough to know that well, despite his relative youth.

"Not everywhere," Thraele said, well aware that Sindyrrith had places where the servants of Lloth either couldn't or wouldn't look. "Trust us."

"I'm not risking it," Nalfein said. He released her wrists and got up, pulling off the last piece of armor on his left arm. "Not to be a toy. That's all I would be. I know how nobles are. Disobedience is not welcomed warmly by the Revered Daughter."

"You would be more than a toy," Thraele said, sitting up. She made no move to get up to her feet, not yet. She undid the last of her armor where she was, looking down at him. "We know Lythrana. That is not her nature."

"Thraele, I—" His temper was starting to rise. He needed her to drop it. It was easier to convince himself that it wasn't worth it when she wasn't reminding him that it might actually be possible and worthwhile.

"We wish to see you happy, Nalfein," the former thrall said.

 _Drop it!_ he snapped in an order, using his gift. All inquisitors were psionic. That was the reason they were chosen, trained, and bound by vows to Lloth. What tool could be more useful for rooting out heresy than the ability to extract information straight from thoughts?

What he didn't expect was for Thraele to suddenly stand up rigidly, her muscles tensed like she was ready for a fight. There was no hint of humor in her expression, all of that replaced by a sort of smoldering rage. Her jaw was clenched and her eyes narrowed. Instead of stopping to talk to him or even gather her armor and sword, she stalked past him, striking his shoulder with her own hard enough to almost knock him off balance. "Never touch our thoughts again," Thraele hissed as she went, somewhere between betrayed and furious.

"Thraele!" he called after her, turning around. She kept moving as if she hadn't heard him. He was taken aback. Most people were confused or just assumed that he had spoken. She hadn't been looking at him when he projected it, so how did she know he wasn't speaking? All he did know was that he had apparently crossed some kind of invisible line. He looked down at her gear and felt something in his chest twist. Something in him doubted she'd be back for it, which meant he needed to have it sent over to Lythrana. An unarmed and unarmored bodyguard wasn't going to be of much use. Hells, he was worried about her just walking back through Menzoberranzan without it.

It was also an indication that she was not going to forgive him at any point in the immediate future, something that actually bothered him more than the idea he was losing his connection to Lythrana.

Nalfein caught Nendra in the hallway. "Lover's spat?" the female inquisitor said with amusement that faded a little at the severity of his expression.

"Can you get her gear to her? I'll owe you a favor," Nalfein said. He didn't really want to talk about it with Nendra, or anyone for that matter. All he could think of was that expression. It bordered on hatred, and he'd felt the inferno of rage that accompanied it. The worst part, however, was that feeling that he'd sensed right before it. For just a fraction of a second, he'd sensed something so small and hurt and betrayed that he could barely believe it was Thraele.

"What happened?" Nendra said with just a touch of exasperation.

"I shouted at her. Up here," he said, tapping his temple. "She _knew_ without even looking what it was and she wasn't happy about it. I…don't know what to do."

"I'll take her things to her. And if I were you, I'd go talk to Sindyrrith for advice. They're partners. She'll know something," Nendra said, heading past him to grab Thraele's things. "Like how you can make it up to Thraele."

"Right," Nalfein said reluctantly. He always felt a little uncomfortable around the renegade, like she was going to rub off on him or land him in some kind of trouble. Still, he grabbed his sword and slung it over his shoulder before heading out. If it meant patching things up with his friend, he would tolerate being in Sindyrrith's presence.

Elsewhere, Thraele took the steps down to the forge where Lythrana so often was working. At the moment it was cold and dark, its mistress still in the rites of Lloth. The former thrall sat down on the lowest step and lowered her head to rest against her knees, feeling furious tears border on falling. It wasn't that he hadn't told her that he was psionic—it was hearing someone, anyone, order her in her own shattered thoughts. She'd felt it, too, the compulsion to obey. It made her throat close up and the chill of fear run through her whole body. But the moment she'd felt that old terror, the anger came rushing up, choking her more. She wasn't certain how she'd gotten those words out. Even more uncertain was what she was going to do now. She had _trusted_ Nalfein. She wanted to believe he was different from Deu'ra, but instinct was screaming at her to get away and stay away.

 _Wear your best mask_ , one of the voices of her memory whispered to her as she heard feet approaching. Thraele swiped at her eyes and sucked in a deep breath before standing up. "You're back early," she said, turning to face the approaching priestess.

"I managed to escape the normal lingering after things. The Matron was surprisingly permissive," Lythrana said. She hesitated a moment, studying her bodyguard and friend. "Are you alright, Thraele? You seem a little off."

"Fine," Thraele said with a small smile meant to reassure the priestess. "Getting to work?"

"No, I came to give you the ring. One of the servants mentioned you'd come this way in a hurry," Lythrana said. She smiled back. "I think you'll approve. I finished it this morning." She went over to the workbench where she did her finer, more delicate crafting and quickly produced a silver ring from within the organized chaos.

It was a delicate silver band with leaves swirling around its circumference, set with a beautiful triad of emeralds, elvish script inlaid in gold. Thraele turned it over to read the message. Without thinking, she knew what it meant. _My heart tells me of us._ "Is this a common phrase?" she asked thoughtfully.

"Well, you said he was seeking to win her affections. It's seen some on what rings a consort gives a female faerie, from what I understand," Lythrana said. "Do you think it will work?"

"We hope it will speak where he feels he cannot," Thraele said. Her thoughts about Nalfein were still angry and hurt, but she knew she had no right to sabotage his image in Lythrana's eyes. Besides, this pain was hers alone. "If only it were a matter of a ring for you and Nalfein."

Lythrana sighed. "I know. I just…I know I'd freeze, not knowing how he feels."

A flash of inspiration struck. "Perhaps if you wrote to him?" Thraele suggested.

Lythrana sat down on the steps by Thraele. Without prompting, the former thrall sat down as well. "I'm worse with written words than I am with spoken ones. Everything comes out short, brusque, mechanical."

"Then tell us what you feel and we will write it," Thraele suggested. "You have never had problems speaking to us."

"Can you copy my handwriting?" Lythrana asked tentatively.

"With some time and work, most certainly," Thraele said even though she knew this plan would bring her back into contact with Nalfein. She would need a way to protect herself when that time came around. Her own will was not to be trusted, not if Deu'ra had overcome her defenses and not if he had so easily sent that chill of compulsion through her body. There was also a secondary reason for her offer: she would likely need to be able to forge Lythrana's handwriting if she was going to help Yvonnel with this scheme of hers. What was the harm, really? Nalfein would be happy, Lythrana would be happy—and powerful—and she could have her revenge on the people that had wronged her. "And we can convey your letters to him without interference from your sisters' spies."

It was never so simple, of course. There would be hidden strings, but Thraele was testing the waters and preparing for now. She would ask Sindyrrith for advice before pursuing it further.

Lythrana looked hopeful. "And you think this will really help?"

"He does not wish to risk the Revered Daughter's wrath just to be used as a toy," Thraele explained. "So we must assure him that is not the case. This may."

"It's worth a try," Lythrana said. She looked self-conscious, but determined. "I'll write you a few pages of notes to work from."

Thraele nodded. "Give me a few days with it and then we'll begin."

* * *

Sindyrrith closed her book when Thraele came in. It had been almost a week since she last saw the younger drowess. "You okay?" the shadowdancer asked. "Your friend came by. He seemed worried about you."

"Did you tell him anything?" Thraele asked automatically.

"That he should give you time and space," Sindyrrith said. "That seems to be a cure-all with you."

Thraele nodded a little. It was good advice. The feeling of betrayal and hurt would fade with the passage of days. They would still have to talk about it, but they could do it with a clearer head. She sat down on the couch next to Sindyrrith. "We feel lost," Thraele said quietly. "Nothing makes sense. We thought Menzoberranzan would bring answers. It has only brought more questions." She could feel those tears struggling to make a reappearance. She said thickly, "We want our old life."

Sindyrrith sighed and wrapped an arm around Thraele's shoulders. "Going back's never an option, Thraele," she said. "Trust me, I've burned a few bridges in my day. Granted, most of those were either necessity or poor life choices on my part. Look at it this way: most people don't get to choose exactly who they get to be. They're bogged down by the past—you're not. That can be a huge stumbling block or a huge blessing, depending on how you want to look at it. I suggest blessing."

"We do not know who to be," Thraele said, covering her face with her hands.

"Whoever you want," Sindyrrith said, giving her a slight squeeze before letting go. "A good place to start would be helping Malagos before he paces a hole in my floor."

Thraele laughed a little bit at that and stood up. "Thank you, Sin," she said before heading up the stairs. She could hear heavy tread against the floor. Malagos was indeed pacing.

Malagos's head jerked up the moment she stepped in. "You have it?" he said nervously.

"Yes," Thraele said, producing the ring. "Do you have your voice and courage?"

"I hope so," Malagos said, taking the ring. He studied it, the corners of his mouth turning upwards slightly despite his small tusks. "It's perfect. Please thank Revered Lythrana for me. If she ever needs someone taken out…"

"We will be certain to ask you," Thraele said. She patted the burly half-drow on the back. "Trust us when we say she will not recoil from you." It was almost amusing, how she was at the center of people's lives just to give them nudges in the right direction. Or what she hoped was the right direction, anyway. Thraele did not feel as though she was made for such full-hearted things. At least, not if how quickly her anger at Nalfein had come was any indication.

Deu'ra had broken that when he broke her mind, she knew that much. However, if she could have revenge and see her friends happy, it would be well worth the personal price to pay.


	8. The Ring and the Wine

Nothing could ever go according to plan.

He really should have seen it coming. It was his own fault, not asking Sin and Nek to clear the passages ahead of time. However, all he could hear at the moment was the roar of pain in his ears as he struggled up to his feet, back on fire. The hook horror had thankfully only caught him by his armor. God, he hated the things. This particular one was a big one: ten feet tall and well over four hundred pounds. Its vulture like head tilted to one side as its many-faceted, insect like eyes took in his appearance. He had managed one hit before it got him, but that had only earned him a bold scratch on the chitin of the mottled grey beetle-like body, almost lost among old marks and the sharp studs on the surface. It heaved itself forward, swinging a front limb that ended in a razor-sharp, wicked hook.

"Malagos!" Alassëa cried. She cast a spell with a flick of her fingers and he felt a surge of strength through his body. The cleric dodged a swing from the other hook and ran for him. She didn't quite manage to dodge its second sweep. The elf was flung against a rocky wall.

The half-drow let out a roar and charged the creature, throwing his whole bodyweight behind the blow. It pierced the carapace at a joint of two plates, the blade sinking into the hook horror up to its hilt. Alassëa struggled to her feet on the other side and cast a powerful _inflict_ spell. Malagos grinned ferociously at it, knowing that between the two of them, it was a death blow.

Just not an immediate one.

The hook that came up from the side hooked beneath his breastplate and ripped the steel apart, leaving a long gash across his chest. It didn't quite sever the whole plate. Instead, it caught him and the creature used that hold to slam him against the cavern roof and then floor, shrieking all the while. There wasn't much he could do except ride it out and hopefully survive. He felt bone break and heard metal battered into submission. By the time the creature actually died, Malagos had more cracked ribs and battered limbs than whole ones. He growled, orc blood rushing through his veins. It wasn't quite the frenzy of a pureblood, but it was a powerful rage that kept him from sliding into unconsciousness and death.

Warm hands on either side of his face brought him back to the here and now, at least. Even blurry, he recognized the eyes looking down at him as Alassëa's worried ones, fair-skinned elven features such a rarity down here in the dark. "Hang on," she murmured. A golden glow emanated from her hands and he felt a rush of warmth through his body. Bones started to knit together and wounds torn open across his body slowly began to heal. The worst of the damage was actually his left leg, which had been broken backwards. She had to actually set the leg before she could even heal that wound. He grit his teeth hard enough that it felt like they were trying to crack, but he didn't cry out.

"Save some of your spells," he grunted once he felt good enough to move. She offered him her hands, helping him up. Malagos's leg didn't want to take his weight, but he kept moving until it felt a little less weak. His armored form was too heavy for Alassëa to support, so he would have to make it on his own. "We might need them again." He still had some cracked ribs and a lot of bruising, but he felt a world better.

"I hope not," Alassëa said, unable to help watching him with concerned eyes. She was ignoring the pain in her own side from the sharp connection with stone. It didn't feel quite broken, so she figured it would be fine. Besides, there was wisdom in Malagos's words: they might need healing spells again for more grievous wounds. "Wherever you're taking us, it had better be close. Otherwise, we should turn and go back."

Malagos shook his head at the idea of turning back. They couldn't have been too far away, at least not if Sin's map was any good. He had to believe that they were in the right place. "We're close," he said. When she looked dubious, he softened slightly. "Trust me, Alassëa, please."

"Alright," she said. "But carefully."

It had not been their first fight of the journey and was unlikely to be their last. They were both exhausted, bloodied, and dirty. There was not even the barest semblance of romance to the trip, but he had pushed on anyway because it would have been suspicious to immediately return to Menzoberranzan. Besides, some stubborn part of him had been _certain_ that he could somehow salvage it, something that seemed impossible now.

They walked—or hobbled, in Malagos's case—along for another good fifteen minutes until the tunnel they were following broke out into a grove of sussur trees, stretching long and gnarled branches up into tangled, interwoven patterns. Dozens of different kinds of fungi surrounded them in a veritable forest in shades of faintly luminescent blues and greens and reds and oranges. The vault they were now standing in was vast, almost as large as the one that housed Menzoberranzan itself. Cave moss softened their footfalls into soundlessness as they approached a crystalline lake filled with white cave fish. Above, the cerulean and violet auroras of wizard's fire danced. Its reflection was caught in delicate spires of crystal that had formed throughout the area. "It's beautiful," Alassëa said softly, taking in her new environs. Once she had imagined that the Underdark was all bleak and barren, like the cave tunnels that initially lead down into it. While it was to a degree, there were also places like this, oases of vibrantly colorful life. She could feel the tingle of magic that was feeding the sussur trees as well as the anti-magic zones that surrounded each one.

"Glad you like it," the half drow said with a chuckle that he immediately regretted, courtesy of his bruised ribs. His plan to give Alassëa the ring had been handily derailed, so he would have to settle for just seeing her face light up. Malagos kept moving around the edge of the lake until they reached a rise at the foot of a great sussur tree, where he dropped his gear. "Good place for a camp," he said by way of explanation, finally trying to work off his battered armor. Alassëa swatted his hands away from the clasps of his armor and took over. Heavy, damaged plates hit the ground one after the other. As she worked free one of his bracers, the last of his armor, she saw something small and bright fall. The ever curious elf immediately reached for it.

Malagos sighed, grateful for the freedom from his armor. He was completely distracted until he heard Alassëa's soft voice say, "Malagos, what's this?"

"Wh—?" he started, turning around. His heart lodged itself into his throat when he saw what she was holding. Words ceased working. There, held in the cleric's long fingers, was the ring.

Alassëa was confused by his reaction. Malagos looked, for lack of a better word, frightened. She didn't understand. Very few things in the world could prompt that kind of reaction from the half-drow. Perhaps she shouldn't have been surprised—Alassëa was one of those few things. Every time she put herself in the line of fire, he was terrified and she was on some subconscious level aware of that. She tried to avoid it when possible, allowing him or Thraele or even Nek to step up and take the brunt of the attack. She turned her attention to the ring. "It looks elvish. Where did you find it down here?" It was clearly important to Malagos, but she'd been with him for decades and hadn't seen it. Besides, it was too small for his hand by far. It was designed for elven fingers, and a woman's at that. That meant it was a recent acquisition.

"Alassëa…" he started to say, feeling the nerves come back with a vicious bite. She looked up at him before she could read the inscription. Malagos cleared his throat. "It's for you."

The cleric blushed and looked a little bit lost for words. "It's very lovely," she said, still a little bit stunned. "But I thought you didn't go up on the surface. Unless a trader happened to have it."

"No," Malagos said. He took the quietest deep breath that he could. Part of him was panicking inside, but he found himself barreling along ahead anyway. "I had it made."

He saw her eyes widen slightly, but the curve of her lips up into a smile made it plain that it wasn't fear. "Mal—" she started to say, the words falling off when she saw the inscription. The blush on her face started to deepen, but the smile didn't go away. She looked up at him, bright eyes wide. "You know what this says, don't you?"

The half-orc nodded and stepped closer. There wasn't all that much distance between them. "Words are difficult," he said. Was this what it felt like to fall with both feet on the ground? "It's much easier when they are etched in metal."

Delicate fingertips touched his temple and followed bone down to his cheek, tracing the blocky lines of his face. "Malagos, what is this?" she asked gently, eyes soft and inquisitive when she looked up at him carefully. She was hoping he meant what it said, but she wasn't certain beyond doubt. There was meaning to those words.

"A hope…and a promise," he said before leaning in to kiss her. He had to pray that her reaction would not be the same as that of women in his past. His lips touched hers briefly and quickly, but then he started to pull away.

He was stopped by delicate fingers in his salt-and-steel-colored hair that pressed him gently but irresistibly back to her lips. Alassëa was kissing him back. He felt his heart stutter almost painfully. Malagos wrapped arms around her tightly, holding her to his chest even though it hurt his ribs. Finally, after a long moment, she pulled back. He loosened his grip in case she meant to run, but instead she leaned into his body, resting her head against his shoulder. "I love it," she murmured to him. "I love you."

Suddenly, everything in the world was right.

"Love you too," Malagos said, unable to stop his grin from spreading. He wanted to whoop and shout it to the four corners of the world. However, he knew his ribs would kill him if he even pulled in a breath deep enough.

* * *

"You're getting pretty good at manipulating people for having no memory of being taught to," Nek commented as they walked back towards House Barrison Del'Armgo. "I think the two of them will make each other pretty happy."

"We hope so," Thraele said, her gaze focused ahead as they walked. Her thoughts were still restless when it came to Nalfein and what she was going to say to him. She regretted storming out now that she had completely cooled down, even if some small part of her was still feeling betrayed. It wasn't as though Nalfein had pushed, knowing how much it would hurt her. It was, as Sin had pointed out reasonably, a mistake. Perhaps he hadn't even meant to do it. She had to hope not. "Alassëa and Malagos deserve it."

"Oh, I meant Lythrana and Nalfein," Nek said, chuckling when Thraele almost stumbled.

"You know?" the former thrall said, her head snapping around to look at the little ranger. She really, really hoped that Nek didn't know everything. If the svirfneblin did, Thraele would be in an unpleasant position and she knew it.

Nek handed her a familiar looking envelope—the one containing the letter she'd been working on. Thraele hadn't even realized she'd forgotten it. "It's good, girly. I wouldn't have even realized it wasn't Lythrana's handwriting if I hadn't found the scraps of paper where you were learning to match it too," the gnome said. "Damn Sune-worthy work. Lemme guess: this is payback for the ring?"

"Yes," Thraele said. She was relieved that Nek had provided her with an excuse, but that relief didn't show. He was right. She'd become very good at concealing or changing things with relatively little time or coaching from someone like Sin. She couldn't remember who she was, but she was beginning to have an inkling that they were not the most forthright individual.

"It does surprise me a little bit, mind," Nek admitted as they approached the gates. "Coulda sworn you had a soft spot for him."

Thraele shrugged. "Nalfein is a friend," she said. Her feelings were confusing enough on their own in the jumbled mess that was her head without adding the svirneblin ranger's appraisal to the chaos. "So, you know what we have been doing. What of you?"

Nek sighed and adjusted the way his crossbow was hanging across his back. "Doing a lot of thinking, girly. I'm not getting any younger. I can hear my knees creak when I get up in the morning. It's been a good run, but I think Nek Stonestrider is about done. Plus, don't want to be a third wheel when the princess and Malagos hook up."

"Sin—"

He chuckled. "Oh, Tuin's a good sort for a drow, but don't let her fool you into thinking she'll always be there. Folks like her have got to disappear sometimes, sometimes for good, and I'm too old to run off chasing shadows."

Thraele gave the gnome a sad smile. "You will not stay with us either, then. You think we are like Sin."

"No," Nek said, looking up at her. "Can't say I'm real sure what you are, girly, but you aren't a Sin. Whatever happened to you with Deu'ra, it changed you. You're drow, but you're not. I know what it's like, feeling like you don't fit all the time. Why I'm not in Blingdenstone, in fact—they didn't understand what'd happened to me, just like you. What I do know is that head of yours is gonna take you places. It'd be something to see. Makes me wish I had another century in me."

The former thrall studied her companion. "We wish that too," she said quietly. "We do not wish to see you go."

"Oh, I'm not running off just yet," Nek said with a grin at the drowess. "I was never one to go quietly into the dark, you know? Got to go kicking and biting and fighting. Best chance of that's with you, girly. You find trouble wherever you go. But before you go getting all excited that I'm hanging around, just remember: even for elves, nothing's forever."

"We are still grateful," Thraele said. She paused and hunted carefully for her next few words. "There was a request that we had. We would like to…try and find a place, out in the Wilds. You are a ranger of the Underdark, Nek. Would you help us?"

Nek gave her an appraising look. "Well, it'll cost you," he drawled. When she raised an eyebrow at him with something between amusement and incredulity, he chuckled. "A whole drink. Where'd you want to go?"

"Where we were captured by Deura," Thraele said, the task she was contemplating stealing the amusement from her expression. "Perhaps there is still something there, something that will help us remember. It is perhaps a fool's errand."

The gnome shook his head a little and let out a sigh. "You're picking at a wound, girly. Just let it heal."

"You will not help?" the drowess said. They had stopped outside the gates to House Barrison Del'Armgo and were in quiet conference at the side of the street. People occasionally glanced at them, but for the most part, Menzoberranzan paid very little attention to Thraele and her little companion. Nek had a mercenary swagger, and even non-drow could exist armed in Menzoberranzan. Rare and not in the social circles of the drow, but foreign trash had its uses. Drow armies, for one, were never made up of solely drow. Goblinoid creatures or quaggoths forming meat shields and taking up the place of burly but less skilled ferocity were par for the course. Of course, they were still trash and kept out of sight wherever possible. Slaves were another place where outsiders became useful, but Nek was too heavily armed and armored to pass for one of those. His attitude would have also been a problem.

Her crestfallen look prompted another sigh from Nek. "I will," he said. "But I think it's a bad idea. How are you going to get away from Lythrana for a few weeks?"

"We are not," Thraele said. "Lythrana has been tasked with leading a patrol that will pass the outskirts of Deu'ra's domain."

Nek raised an eyebrow. "Long way from Menzoberranzan," he commented. "What're they up to?"

Thraele shrugged. "Looking for something. Or someone. We will meet with Lythrana and then report back to you."

"Dunno why you need me if you're going to have a whole patrol of drow with you," Nek grumbled a little in his gruff way.

The drowess smiled. "Because we trust you, Nek," she said.

"You're going to have to work on that, girly," he warned her. "Now off with you. Gods know Lythrana can't protect herself."

Thraele nodded her head to him and stepped inside Barrison Del'Armgo's gates. It didn't take her long to find Lythrana waiting in her study, her second-favorite haunt. The noble looked particularly unhappy today as she poured herself a glass of wine. "Have some," Lythrana said without preamble. "Save me from myself. I'll be wretched if I drink the whole bottle on my own."

The former thrall raised an eyebrow. "That bad?" she said, picking up the bottle to look at it. A luurden—better known as bloodfruit—wine with a label from Erelhei-Cinlu, one of the more delicate and rare plants of the Underdark. Nek had pointed one out to her in a cavern as they passed between Deu'ra's stronghold and Rockhollow, growing in one of the areas of powerful ambient magical energies. It had looked more dead than alive, pale and gnarled. She was aware now that they bore a small crop of bitter red fruit only once every four years, from one of Lythrana's few tangents on something that wasn't mechanical. "You should save this for a good occasion."

"I have another," Lythrana said dismissively. "The Matron was _livid_ with Tathlyn. The pair of them are like fire and…more fire. Anyone standing too close gets burned."

"And you were too close, we assume," Thraele said dryly, pouring herself a drink. She had no memory of ever having tried this, so it would be a new experience. There was something to be said for Sin's way of looking at things—an opportunity. A blessing, she'd called it. Thraele found it odd that someone like the agent was an optimist, particularly in the Underdark. _Plan for the worst, hope for the best,_ her mother's phantom voice advised.

"Far, far too close," Lythrana said, resting her head on her crossed arms where they lay on the table. "This whole thing is imbecilic, a waste of my time and theirs. We're not going to find anything. I've combed over the old maps more than Tathlyn and the Matron combined. Granted, I was looking for ore deposits, but the point still stands. This…relic that was lost, it's not on any of them."

"Perhaps it newly arrived in the area," Thraele suggested with a shrug, taking a sip of her wine.

— _a blur of motion, laughter. "Give her here," her mother said, opening up her arms. Thraele felt strong arms pass her over to more slender, delicate ones that were powerful nonetheless. She felt bigger than her earlier memories, taller, but still not fully grown. "I told you not to let her try it, you oaf."_

 _There was a chuckle and then a male voice she couldn't quite place. It was a friendly voice, though, a safe voice. Someone she could trust, even though he teased her. "You never handled it quite well yourself, did you? Like mother, like daughter," he said. She could see him now—the male drow that had died in her other vision._

 _"Oh, shut up," the woman holding her said in a mock-annoyed tone. The wine had been flowing and everyone was in a good mood._

 _More soberly, the male said, "It's funny how like you she is. Next thing we know, she'll get all cynical the way you are."_

 _"They grow up so fast," her mother said by way of agreement before sighing almost wistfully—_

 _—It was sweltering heat here near the vents where the pale, orange-white lichen grew. They smelled like spice and the wickedly hot liquor her friend's father drank on special occasions. It wasn't far out of the city, but the little giggling group of them would still be in a tremendous amount of trouble if their parents knew where they were. The heat around them in the warm glow, however, was nothing compared to the one burning in her cheeks when lips brushed against her cheek. Syrdar was the only other drow she'd seen besides the roving traders, and he was a cute one at that. Only her dark skin saved her from the embarrassment that was being caught blushing._

 _"I'm sorry I hurt your spider," he said contritely._

 _Her friends were giggling now. "Speechless? You?" one of them teased. "Isn't it cute?" She was always the charming one, never without some kind of clever response. It was humiliating to be caught off-guard, it really was._

 _"Shut up!" she hissed. She was just reaching the age where males went from being icky to highly interesting, the same age where her friends' opinions really began to mean the world—_

 _—"Will you teach me how to use a knife?" she asked, looking up at her mother from where she was sitting by the oven. The warmth was seeping into her tired body. It was comforting, to see her mother so domestic. The woman currently had her hands full with dough, kneading and pulling it until it started to resemble a loaf. They could have probably gotten a slave to do it, but her mother seemed content doing it. The older drowess made food out on the trail, which was significantly more difficult than in a kitchen._

 _She was nine, she knew that much. It was the day after her birthday. She was already quite dexterous, and her constant motion, running around in the city and the Wilds nearby, had made her surprisingly strong. That was why she was confident her mother would allow it._

 _"Of course. It's something that everyone should know," her mother said as she slid the food into the oven to cook. "Particularly you, d'anthe."_

 _That was an interesting statement to her. It spoke of something that her mother wasn't ready to tell her yet, which was strange. The woman kept few secrets from her, at least as far as she knew. Her mother had been honest about the fact that she wasn't her mother by blood._

 _"Why particularly me?" she asked._

 _"The world you live in is more dangerous than you know—"_

 _—"You bitch!" she screamed after the retreating figure that had left her, fumbling for her sword. Her right leg was in agony. When she turned her head to the other side, she saw it advancing. That tall, thin, horrible creature with its writhing tentacles. Deu'ra. The dread started to pour through her veins like ice-water—_

She became aware that Lythrana was shaking her by the shoulder. "Thraele, are you alright?" Lythrana asked, eyes wide.

"What happened?" Thraele asked, shaking her head as if to clear away the fog. She was back sitting in Lythrana's study, very much separated from the memories that had been sparked by the taste of the wine.

"I don't know. You just sort of…froze. For a minute I thought it might be poison," the noble said. She looked distinctly worried. She repeated, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, we are alright," Thraele said as she offered Lythrana a reassuring smile. "No poison. Just…a thought."

"Oh?" Lythrana said curiously.

Now it was time to make something up. Anything, just to avoid saying what had really happened. The words came almost without a thought, so naturally that Thraele wondered if it had been part of her memories. It sounded right. "What if a caravan was moving the relic?" she said thoughtfully. "Suppose others found it, but they were intercepted by bandits or an enemy house or some other opportunistic creatures. An ambush, it was lost, and now your mother's divinations have placed it somewhere in the tunnels where it was forgotten."

Lythrana leaned back in her seat. "That makes sense," she said thoughtfully, tentatively resuming normal conversation. "I still don't see why they're sending me. I thought Tathlyn would be jumping at a chance to earn Lloth's favor."

"Because you have been studying ambient magical energies with K'yorl?" Thraele suggested.

"And something like that would disturb the natural flow of _faerz'ress_ ," Lythrana said, finishing the thought. She sighed and sipped her wine. "I'm not smashed enough to think this is a good idea. I hate the Wilds. Everything out there is out to get us."

"Of course. Drow are so popular," Thraele said with a dry smile. "Welcomed wherever we go, lauded by the races who surround us."

Lythrana laughed and had more wine. "Come on. I'll race you to the bottom."

"We are responsible for your safety," the former thrall reminded her.

The noble sighed. "Very well. Be the responsible one," she said. "I am going to thoroughly regret this tomorrow."


	9. The Mending

Thraele could feel stirrings at her memory as they walked down the narrow passageway that lead towards Deu'ra's tower. Echoes of pain and torment lingered at the edges of her shattered thoughts, specters conjured up by this familiar road. She'd walked it many times as a silent sentinel at the mindflayer's side when he went out to meet with the slavers that brought him new thralls. They all became meals sooner or later. She was the only one he'd kept around for any appreciable length of time. Her expression was as funereal as she looked around. Thraele had chosen to move slightly ahead of the group as a scout, well aware that Nek was even further ahead doing some scouting of his own. In the distance, she spotted the burned out remains of a caravan, largely decomposed with age. Time to rejoin the others.

Her stomach was twisting unpleasantly when she fell back to make her report. "Clear," she said. "There was a mindflayer here not long ago—dead now—which means other creatures may be avoiding the place in case of that danger."

Lythrana fought down her shudder at even the mention of a mindflayer. She hated illithids. They made her skin crawl. She'd only encountered one before, and that was with a much larger group and Tathlyn at her back. This journey, there were eight drow, counting Lythrana and Thraele. The former thrall had barely said two words to anyone the past few days, uncharacteristically quiet even for her. "Thank the Goddess that it's dead," she murmured softly. "Let me see if I can detect anything."

Lythrana fished out an especially enchanted loadstone, one designed to direct them towards any break in the natural flow of magic through the Underdark. She and K'yorl had spent the better part of a week crafting and tuning it. There was plenty of ambient magic here, well above the normal background level. Deu'ra had chosen this spot for a reason, possessing the curiosity and spells of a mage. Drawing on the _faerz'ress_ was not incredibly difficult for a seasoned spellcaster. Even Thraele could sense hints of it at the edges of her consciousness. She let the stone sit in her palm. It spun a few times, then wavered and pointed ahead.

"There is something here, then," Thraele said, studying the vibrating stone.

The noble smiled brightly. "Glad to know you haven't lead us horribly astray. Let's go see what we can find."

The ruins of the caravan were old. If Thraele had to guess, she would have put it at decades. The wood of wagons and crates had largely rotted away. There was no sign of any kind of provisions that had survived and no markings that were distinguishable. She stepped forward cautiously, looking around. The other drow were doing the same, automatically moving to look out positions along the tunnel as Lythrana and Thraele investigated. They did not want to be caught unaware—the site was an excellent one for an ambush, with raised stone outcroppings on either side of the path where spells and bolts could become lethal descending fire. There was no cover down where they were, but the sheer rock would be nigh-impossible to climb without a spell of _spiderclimb_.

Little flashes of memory were coming to Thraele now as she stepped forward. She could hear screaming in her head, inarticulate and faint, though clearly begging for help. Perhaps it was the other members of the party that had passed through here? She knelt down, stirring some fragments of wood with her fingers. She turned up something else, a house glyph with a painfully familiar symbol on it.

— _"You bitch!" she screamed at the retreating figure. This time she could see the woman more clearly as she glanced over her shoulder. A scarred face with a twisted, sick grin of satisfaction on it, red streaked hair falling over one eye. There was no taunt other than that wicked smile, but one wasn't really needed._

 _She turned her head to see Deu'ra again. First came the horrible dread as she struggled to move despite her mangled right leg. Then it felt like her head exploded in pain as every part of her screamed and raged against the mind crushing her own. It wasn't enough. She felt her struggle suddenly fade, caught like a fly in a spider's web. No, worse than that. The only thought she could hold was obedience. Her mind was being ripped apart. Visions flashed before her eyes, memories extinguished as those tentacles writhed with alien amusement._

 _Deu'ra's compulsion forced her up to her feet even though her leg couldn't support her without agony. She limped after him like a faithful hound, dragging her sword with her with its tip against the ground. The creature rounded on her and ripped her house glyph off her armor, tossing it away._

 _"I am your master now, thrall," Deu'ra said, simultaneously projecting it into her mind. "Do you understand that?"_

 _"Yes, Master," she said dully even though some tiny, powerless part of her was still screaming to resist—_

Thraele rubbed at her eyes, fighting down her shiver. This had been hers, once upon a time. "Lythrana, do you recognize this?" she asked, rising to her feet. She held out the glyph for her friend's inspection.

The priestess shook her head. "No, but that only means that it belongs to a House from a different city," she said. "Why?"

"Just curious," Thraele said.

Lythrana seemed to accept that explanation without objection or suspicion. "Come on, it must be this way," she said, pointing to a narrow crevice in one of the walls. As they approached, Thraele heard the sound of dripping water. "It's not as strong as I would have expected for an artifact of this age. The lodestone is having a little bit of trouble finding it."

They stepped out into a primarily limestone cavern, slippery and shining with water that dripped down from long stalactites. Pools had formed on certain parts of the floor. If the artifact was in this cavern, it was not readily apparent.

Thraele was the one who spotted the irregular hunk of deposit, noting that the lodestone was wavering towards it. "Maybe it's buried under that?" she said, gesturing to it.

"Only one way to find out," Lythrana said, pulling out her spare dagger. She went over and started to chip away at the soft stone. After a few minutes, she could see something black emerge. It was dull now, some of the surface eroded away. The priestess, attuned to things like mineral composition, gave a low whistle. "This looks like black opal. I think we've found it. Help me get it out, at least enough to move it. When we get back to Menzoberranzan, I can take off the rest."

Thraele nodded and set to work, following the rough form of the statue. Slowly it began to take shape. It was about two feet tall and looked like it might have been some statue of Lloth in her spider form. Now that it was uncovered, she could almost taste the power coming off it, like the ozone following a lightning spell. Whatever it was, it was ancient. Primeval, even. "What do you think—" Thraele started to say. Her hand slipped, slashing open a finger. The moment her blood splashed onto the statue, a demonic howl split the air, accompanied by an explosion of force. Both of them were thrown backwards a good ten feet, splashing into one of the shallow pools.

"Thraele!" Lythrana shouted, finding her feet.

The former thrall wasn't moving except for her lips, which were whispering words in a language she didn't know. Corruption spread through the air with every murmur. It made Lythrana shudder, but she approached her fallen friend anyway. She grabbed Thraele's shoulder and shook hard before recoiling as her fingers actually burned from the magic flowing through the former thrall's body.

 ** _I see you_** **,** a sweet voice whispered in the insensible woman's ear as she drifted between consciousness and unconsciousness. **_I am always watching…_**

The shaking seemed to work, however. Thraele groaned and opened her eyes. Her whole body ached, but the effects were fading fast, except for one. She noticed the change immediately. Her mind was…healing. The memories were not returning, but no longer did her thoughts echo and twist as if caught in the strongest of cavern zephyrs. "You alright?" she said groggily, looking over at the noble.

"Nothing a salve can't heal," Lythrana said, shaking out her hand. "What the hell was that?"

"We don't know," Thraele said, clambering up to her feet. She was still trembling a little bit from the residual energy. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, ragged and stunned. It prompted a raised eyebrow from Lythrana.

"If you're possessed, Thraele, I'm going to be extremely upset," the noble said warningly.

"No," the former thrall said, shaking her head. "It's just...we feel whole again." There were still wounds in her mind, scars, but she felt a world better.

"I didn't realize you weren't," Lythrana said a bit more softly. There was genuine pain on Thraele's face at she considered that, even if only for a second.

"Not after Deu'ra," Thraele said quietly. Maybe it would be alright to tell Lythrana. She trusted the noble, even if she was being paid to guard the noble. "The mindflayer who lived here."

Lythrana felt a chill. "Thraele, you were—"

"A thrall, yes," she said quietly. "We killed Deu'ra and made our escape with the help of some adventurers. Our mind is—no, was—broken."

"And that's why you talk the way you do," Lythrana said, comprehending. "I'm sorry, Thraele. That had to be horrible."

Thraele smiled humorlessly. "It is not an experience we would care to repeat."

The sound of shouting drew their attention back towards the main passage where the rest of their group was. "Vith!" Lythrana swore, getting up. She ran back towards the group with her bodyguard hot on her heels. Pandemonium was waiting for them: an ambush. Without hesitating, the noble hit the nearest enemy with a powerful _inflict_ spell. They had attackers up above with crossbows and some in melee on either side of the tunnel. There was no escape for the group except for into the cavern that Thraele and Lythrana had just come from…which was a dead end. Immediately, fire focused on Lythrana.

The former thrall put her body between Lythrana and the worst of the crossbow fire. It meant getting hit herself, however. "Lythrana, go back," she barked at her friend. "We need to get away from their ranged."

Without hesitation, Lythrana retreated back into the cavern they'd come from. Immediately, the few remaining drow from their party followed her. Thraele was the last out of the narrow tunnel with their melee assailants hot on her heels. She whirled around the moment she was out of reach of the crossbow bolts and slammed her fist into the throat of an attacker. He staggered back. It immediately registered in Thraele's head what they were dealing with: drow. She didn't stop to think about what that might mean, however. Instead, she sliced at the next one with her sword while the one with a crushed throat struggled to breathe. It drew a burning line across the front of his thigh, biting deeply into his muscle. He retaliated with a vicious stab of his sword that actually punched through her armor, driving through her midsection—a potentially lethal wound.

Something in Thraele snapped at that wound. She snarled and launched herself at him, driving the blade in deeper until it had completely run her through. The former thrall slammed the hilt of her weapon into his face, feeling bone crunch with satisfaction. When he staggered back to hold his face, she swung her sword, catching him in the neck with enough force to almost sever his head. She was vaguely aware that someone was shouting her name, but somehow that didn't matter. She charged forward at the next fighter, who broke and ran at the sight of a woman charging him with a sword still running her through. She would have chased him down, but hands grabbed her and yanked her back before she could run back into crossbow range.

She whirled around, sword at the ready, only to see it was Lythrana. "Sorry," she hissed out, trying to breathe through the almost crippling pain.

"This might hurt," Lythrana said as she caught hold of the hilt of the sword. She pulled it free and covered the wound with her hand, murmuring the incantation for a powerful healing spell.

Thraele sagged a little bit against the noble, gritting her teeth. It was going to be a tender and sore spot, but she wasn't going to bleed to death or die of infection. "We need a way out," she said roughly, straightening up.

"Good thing you've got me, girly," a familiar voice said. Nek had seemingly appeared from nowhere, something he was good at doing. He wasn't a rogue, but he could still move extremely stealthily when he needed to.

Lythrana started and then looked down to see a deep gnome, something she hadn't been expecting. "Who are you?" she asked suspiciously as she picked up the statuette and wrapped it in cloth. There was no way she was leaving without what they'd come for. It was surprisingly light for a piece of stone.

"Friend of Thraele's," Nek said a bit vaguely. He grinned. "There's a back passage with an illusion on it. Comes out at the mindflayer's hideout. Guess he had a back door. Anyway, come on. You okay, girly?"

Thraele ripped a crossbow bolt out of her shoulder with a sharp inhale. "Fine," she said. "Hurry."

Lythrana nodded and looked to their two remaining compatriots. They didn't look keen on trusting a svirfneblin, but they were a lot less keen on taking on a superior force like the one rapidly approaching. "We follow the gnome," she ordered.

The illusion was a segment of wall indistinguishable from the rest of the cavern wall, complete with the appearance of dripping water, but they were able to pass through it without a problem. Thraele looked around. "Deu'ra warded this. We remember," she said. "Could you reactivate them, Lythrana?"

The noble frowned in concentration, weaving a spell. There was a faint whisper of magic and then a powerful ward hummed to life. Lythrana looked impressed by the magnitude of energy contained in the static spell. "That should slow them down," she said with a faint smile, dusting off her hands. The smile faded when she looked at the group. She and Nek were the only uninjured ones. Thraele was pulling out another crossbow bolt from where it'd lodged between two ribs, mercifully not puncturing her lung thanks to her armor. The priestess immediately went and began to heal her small party. "Thraele, do you know the way out?" With Thraele's grave wound healed, she could focus on the other two warriors, who definitely looked worse for wear.

"We know, yes. So does Nek," the former thrall said. She took the opportunity to ease the last crossbow bolt out of her right calf.

"You really do find trouble everywhere you go, girly," Nek said with amusement, shouldering his crossbow. "Looked like an inside job to me."

"Tathlyn and the Matron were the only two who knew where we were going," Lythrana said, agreeing internally with Nek's assessment. "So either my lovely mother is fed up with my quirks or my lovely sister has decided I'm a little too dangerous."

"You need to start thinking about fighting back, Lythrana," Thraele said. She shook her shoulders to loosen up after all her muscles had tightened. "Whichever one it was, they're not going to stop until you're dead."

"Let's think about that after we really escape," the noble said, starting up the stairs after the deep gnome.

Thraele followed her obediently, weapon still drawn. Her abdomen gave a painful twinge as she did, a reminder of the abuse it had suffered. She was limping as well after that bolt to the leg, but it was more painful than debilitating. Hopefully the defenses Deu'ra had left were as potent as his paranoia had once been. She didn't really want to hang around to find out, however. At the top of the stairs, Nek stopped long enough to hastily bandage her wounds, albeit over her armor, just so she wouldn't keep dripping blood onto the stone where someone could track it. Then they were off, vanishing into the darkness of the Night Beneath.

* * *

Lythrana huddled closer to their small, magical campfire for warmth. It was hidden in a pit, so as not to attract anything's attention from a distance. Their whole trip had been an almost silent affair, probably because it was at a jog for a good length of time. Thraele spent most of her time at the rear of the group, cursing in pain and annoyance at her own body. They still had a long ways to go back to Menzoberranzan, but Nek was leading them along a hidden route that promised to be much safer from pursuit. Beasts, potentially not. "I don't want to take on the Matron or Tathlyn," she said quietly. The two soldiers with them were either asleep or pretending to be in a very convincing fashion. All the same, she tried not to wake them up. When they stopped to rest, Lythrana used the last of her spells to heal everyone in the group until they were whole again.

"Why not?" Thraele asked. She studied Lythrana closely, hoping for a hint. She could see nerves in the way her friend almost wrung her hands.

"Because I don't think I can win that fight," the noble blurted out before pulling in a deep breath. "Thraele, have you seen Tathlyn or Mez'Barris on the battlefield? They're like forces of nature."

"We were not suggesting open warfare," she said reasonably. "There are other arenas where Mez'Barris and Tathlyn are at significant disadvantage."

Lythrana exhaled sharply. "Like where?"

"Like dealing with the world beyond Menzoberranzan. Like thinking logically even when angry. Like handling diplomacy," Thraele said. She offered her friend a smile. "People like you, Lythrana. They listen to you. You just don't know it because your head is other places. Do you think the soldiers don't know where their better weapons and armor come from? That is something that ensures their continued good health and endears you to them greatly."

"So I should what, try to become Matron?" the priestess said, sounding a little bit frustrated. "Thraele, I don't care about power. You know that. All I want is to be left alone to do my work."

"That was never an option, Lythrana," Thraele said gently. She was treading on precarious ground, but she knew Lythrana well enough to know this might be a way to persuade her into at least not protesting the Matron's seat if Thraele could secure it for her. Better to have Lythrana adjust to the idea so that when the day came, it wouldn't be a complete shock to the system. The last thing anyone wanted was a Matron Mother freezing up during a particularly vicious bout of infighting. "Not as the daughter of a Matron Mother. Your sisters will have you killed if you don't fight. Any one of them could have easily succeeded today, had Nek not arrived."

Lythrana sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. She was quiet for a long moment before exhaling in a big sigh. "You're right," she said quietly. "I can't just curl up in a ball and hope they go away. I just…I don't think I'm ready. A Matron can't just be a diplomat or an engineer—hells, they probably shouldn't be. She has to be a leader. I'm not a military genius or a particularly powerful cleric. How could I even…?"

"If you don't know, surround yourself with people who do," Thraele said. "Besides, be wary of selling yourself short tactically. We _have_ played chess against you—we know that it's not true." Her friend was inordinately fond of strategy games, even surface ones. Lythrana had been introduced to chess by the old Patron and quickly became a force to be reckoned with on the board.

"I'll think about it," Lythrana said, standing up. "But before that, I'm going to go to bed, if you and the gnome have watch." She was still mistrustful of Nek, but she doubted he would try anything with a drow awake as well. Thraele nodded and moved to an overlook point, sitting on a rocky shelf higher up the cavern wall where she could watch.

Nek approached her after an hour or so, once Lythrana was asleep too. He was curious about what exactly had prompted Thraele to make the suggestion that Lythrana should fight. It was sound reasoning, but those were also the words of a woman invested in the noble's future. "So what's the deal?" he said. "You seemed awful keen on Lythrana being Matron."

Thraele knew not to make any mention of Yvonnel X'larraz'et'soj. Doing so would put her painfully at odds with Sindyrrith and Alassëa. "There are two motivations. One selfish, one unselfish," Thraele said quietly. "If one of the others becomes Matron, they will kill Lythrana. She is popular with the troops, which makes her dangerous. Our duty is to protect her."

The svirfneblin nodded a little, sitting down at her side. He rested his crossbow across his lap, just in case. "And the selfish reason?"

"We had a vision. We were not captured by Deu'ra by accident," she said grimly and quietly. "We were abandoned to that fate. If we were to go to Erelhei-Cinlu, to find the people responsible, we would want the aid of a Matron Mother before then."

"Revenge is dangerous, girly," Nek warned. "Lots of people have lived to regret it…or not lived at all."

Thraele sighed. "We know," she said in an even more muted tone. "But we suffered so long at Deu'ra's hands that we want at least an answer as to why."

Nek patted her on the back in a gesture that she could have sworn was meant to be reassuring. Alassëa really had been a good influence on him. "Fair enough," he murmured. "Just be careful, girly. Wouldn't want to see you end up in a bad way."


	10. The Memories Begin

Nalfein looked up at the knock on his doorframe and felt a wave of relief crash over him. "Tathlyn said you and Lythrana were dead," he said, standing up so quickly he almost dropped the armor he had been servicing.

"Her reports were exaggerated," Thraele said dryly and she stepped in. She was still exhausted and battered, but at some point her weary brain had decided that now was as good a time as any to go see him. It wasn't a bad idea, actually—she was too tired to feel any residual anger at him. "Though we are certain she wishes otherwise. If she wants to kill us, we suggest severing our head and burning it separately from our body."

Nalfein chuckled. "You are hard to take down," he said. He'd never been a real fight with Thraele, but he'd been in enough practice bouts with her to know it wasn't a good idea. He winced when he saw the hole in her armor from where the sword had run her through, still stained with blood—a lot of it. "Lythrana's healing spells got some use, I assume."

"You would be correct," Thraele said, easing herself down into one of the chairs at his small table. "Still, our bruises have bruises. But this is not the first time. We recall many training bouts with the woman who was our aunt where much damage was done upon the assumption that our mother would mend the wound. It was never a painless healing." Those memories had come to her on the way back, as she limped along with the others. They had been afraid to really stop for long for most of the trip, so Lythrana had reserved her spells in case of more combat rather than expending them in the hopes of a full eight hours of uninterrupted rest. It meant Thraele walked all the way back on a bad leg, their mounts unfortunately lost due to the ambush.

"Did she die?" Nalfein asked. When Thraele raised an eyebrow at him, he clarified, "Your aunt?"

"We hope so," Thraele said bitterly. She had scraped together enough images to recognize that it was her aunt who had left her to die. But the woman's name and more than her shadowy visage or her voice escaped her. _You're weak, bug_ , she heard in cruel tones in her head when she grasped at those memories. She sighed and brushed a lock of hair back out of her eyes. "This is for you." She held out a somewhat battered envelope. It had a smear of blood on one corner. Apologetically, she added, "We would have cleaned it up, but we have not yet returned to either House Barrison Del'Armgo or Sindyrrith's home. It is from Lythrana."

"Lythrana?" he said, surprised.

"Since you cannot speak to her, she supposed that writing would have to suffice," Thraele said. Her expression was particularly difficult to understand at the moment. "But we should talk before you read it."

"About her?" Nalfein said, worried.

Thraele shook her head and rested her hand over the hole in her armor. It still ached powerfully, even days later. The pain at least served to keep her awake. "About what happened last we spoke," Thraele said. She had told Lythrana, so it wasn't as though it was some great secret anymore. It was just…admitting that level of weakness to Nalfein felt different, maybe because she wanted him to see her at her best rather than know what she'd been like at her lowest. "We know it was psionics, because we are familiar with psionics. We…do not like them." She saw Nalfein tense defensively. "We like you, Nalfein. It is not you. Not even your powers. It is the memory of our last experience with psionics that we still carry."

"And that was?" he said a bit tersely.

She looked down and away from him before pulling in a deep breath. "For…a very long time, we were the thrall of a mindflayer," she said.

Whatever he had been expecting to hear, that was not it. It triggered a huge surge of a very unfamiliar emotion that hit him like a lightning bolt: guilt. "Thraele, I never meant to hu—"

"We know," she said, offering him a small smile. "It is hard not to react on instinct, not to push away and run. But we thought that we would make an effort."

Nalfein hesitated for a moment. "What were you, before all that happened?"

Thraele shook her head, eyes a deep, red-tinged purple color in the faint magical light. "We do not recall. Slowly, things drift back. It is like looking into a kaleidoscope, though it is slowly healing now. Words that mean little: Matron, family, duty, faith, mother." She smiled a little bit. "We have a sneaking suspicion that you would not have liked us. We have memories of being taught into rigidity and arrogance."

"Well, I think the second half stuck," Nalfein said with a chuckle. His amusement only intensified when she glared at him. "What, can't handle a tease?"

"You are fortunate that we are _tired_ ," she said, sighing out the last word. He could see her eyes starting to drift closed for a moment. Then she moved her fingers to the hole in her armor and jabbed two fingers into the sore spot in her abdomen. It immediately woke her up, a painful hiss coming through her teeth. "Better now."

"Goddess, Thraele, don't hurt yourself," Nalfein said.

She gave him a half smile that was tight with pain. "Now is not a time to sleep," she said. "We must stay awake somehow."

"You could sleep here," Nalfein offered. When he saw the words of refusal forming, he sighed. "Thraele, you're in no condition to protect Lythrana right now, even if you were there. At least catch an hour or two of rest here while she's with the Matron before storming back over to House Barrison Del'Armgo. I have no reason to stab you while you're unconscious."

"That we know of," Thraele said, though her defensiveness was weak and mostly feigned.

He chuckled as she reluctantly moved to her feet. Nalfein went over and started setting to work on the clasps and belts that held her armor on.

Thraele swatted at him. "What are you doing?" she said by way of protest, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I'm helping you with your armor," he drawled. "You're barely keeping your eyes open. There's no way you're doing this on your own and you're not sleeping in your dirty armor on my bed."

"There is a perfectly good couch," Thraele said frostily, though she mostly stopped trying to bat his hands away.

"That I plan on using in the next hour," Nalfein said. He found her disgruntled expression endearing rather than off-putting, probably because he knew that Thraele wasn't likely to actually do him harm. Besides, he thought it would be a good gesture now that things between them were back to normal. The idea of her as a thrall still bothered him on a fundamental level—some people deserved that kind of suffering, but not Thraele, in his opinion—but he had some inkling that she would talk about it when she was ready. "Thraele, please? It will make me feel better."

She sighed and relented at that, allowing him to take off her armor with no further protests. By the time she was free, she was starting to sway a little bit. Nalfein helped her into the bedroom and eased her down onto the bed. His room was fairly Spartan, but he knew the bed was more comfortable than the couch. She was still wearing the same clothes that she had during the fight, but they'd been washed on the road, so she wasn't getting blood and dirt all over his bed. He could still see holes and tears in the cloth, however, where she'd been wounded. There were bandages underneath, likely Lythrana's work. "Thank you," Thraele mumbled out as she closed her eyes and let her head rest on the pillow, barely audible. "You are a good friend."

Nalfein was surprised to hear her say that she considered him a friend, particularly with the damage he'd done to her trust, but he didn't comment. Instead, he just smiled. "Get some sleep," he said before stepping back out into the main room. The envelope on the table caught his eye. If Thraele had come this far out of her way, he assumed it was important. Lythrana had probably sent her with it, which was a confusing notion. What did the noble want? Perhaps the contents of the envelope would have an answer for him.

What he found was not an answer. It was a font of other questions. It was a missive feeling out the waters, written in hesitant but well-chosen words. Apparently she did remember him from the Academies, which made him smile a little bit despite himself. He wasn't certain if she would have ever approached him even knowing he was interested—Lythrana had struck him as quiet for a noble. That she was reaching out to him now was more than he had ever expected. There was warmth to her words that he had thus far really only felt from Thraele. It was definitely interest, even if it came in an oblique way. She seemed more interested in getting to know him than getting him into bed immediately, which was…perplexing.

For the first time in his life, Nalfein didn't know how to handle a woman. He'd always been good at obeying and sensing moods and tailoring his behavior to match a drowess's expectations. But Lythrana's letter was leading to a place far, far away from the beaten trail. If Thraele was right, and she did want him as a lover, this suggested that she might actually also want more than just a fleeting thing. He honestly wasn't certain how to feel about that. It was _dangerous_. It would have been even if Yvonnel hadn't slapped him with a serious prohibition. But then again, it seemed innocent enough. He read over the letter again. _What could it hurt?_ he found himself asking. _It's not like she'll pay attention for long._ He picked the letter up and carried it into the bedroom where his writing desk was. Thraele appeared dead to the world, her chest rising and falling in slow, even, deep breaths.

It was strange to see her so peaceful and still. When she was awake, and maybe it was because of the secret she'd been keeping, Thraele always seemed a little bit constrained. Now she finally looked relaxed. _You are a good friend._ He felt a little bit proud of himself for causing her to say so. Nalfein had experienced only a little of other races besides the drow and the world beyond Menzoberranzan, but he'd heard stories from the others. He understood that a friend was more than an ally of convenience. It implied a level of trust—not that agreeing to sleep around him didn't. After all, he could plunge a dagger into her chest now that she was unarmored and relatively defenseless. He wouldn't, but he could. Thraele saying anything of that nature was a meaningful gesture to him, even if she would probably pretend she'd never uttered a sound the moment she was properly awake. It was hard to tell with Thraele. She ran hot and cold sometimes.

Nalfein agonized over every word he put on paper for the next few hours, thoughts racing to something near panic when he thought about Lythrana not liking what she might read. Unbeknownst to him, Thraele's still body was not indicative of a still mind. Her dreams took her to strange places, duergar cities and passages in the Wilds, a noble house and a ghetto of downtrodden outcasts. A succubus purred at her, touching her cheek. Arguments raged behind closed doors. Lips curved into wicked smiles. Fiery eyes glared into her own. Fingers dug into her the soft flesh under her chin. Fear, uncertainty, pain…

 _—"She is…adequate."—_

 _—"Did he say you could trust me?" Onyx eyes flickered over at her as they walked, evaluating._

 _"No," she said honestly, not certain what to think of the question._

 _"Good," the almost painfully familiar man grunted. She could feel his name at the very peripheries of her mind, always just out of reach—_

 _—"I will make you a priestess, or I will break you. I don't particularly care which one," a voice of honeyed menace whispered in her ear. She could feel fiery eyes burning into her body, sending currents of dread running down her spine. "People think nobility is simply blood. They are wrong. It is, as a scholar once wrote, based upon scorn, cunning, power, and profound indifference. The only thing you should ever care about is your own success, your own power, your own vision of what you will. There are two kinds of people in this world: those with the quality to rule, and those who are ruled. No daughter of our house who falls into the second category will be allowed to live. I will tolerate no sentiment, no weakness. Am I understood?"_

 _"Yes, Matron," she found herself saying, trying not to flinch away or cry when those brutal fingers dug into her shoulder, hooking into the pressure points beneath her collar bone._

 _"See that you do," the woman whispered into her ear. "And I want one thing very, very clear: if you cannot earn it, you do not deserve it. If you do not deserve it, you will die."—_

 _—the bite of a snakewhip into her back, tearing and pulling, venom burning in her veins. She screamed, but it brought no relief. Fingers tightened in her hair, yanking her head back. "What are you going to do, little one?" a different voice taunted her. It was familiar too. Another of her mother's sisters, not the one that had abandoned her. "Go crying to the Matron? She won't protect you forever, and the moment she isn't, you'll be ours."_

 _There was a chuckle from someone else, a male voice. It was her uncle. "Mother isn't going to like you tormenting her, you know."_

 _"She needs to learn her place now: at the bottom."—_

 _—laying on the ground unable to move because of the pain, arm bent at a broken angle, ribs cracked inward, a leg dislocated, doing her best not to make it worse somehow. Her mother had told her that she should never let them see her cry, so she screamed in anger instead and cast a hateful gaze at the figures just watching her. The woman who had given birth to her laughed and approached, leaning down to touch her. Instead of sweet relief, the healing was as agonizing as the injuries, bones violently snapping back into place and muscles cramping painfully as they healed. It was a punishment for failure, administered with some small enjoyment at seeing her suffer._

 _"What have we learned?" that honeyed voice said, amused._

 _She forced herself up through the pain the moment she could actually stand on her leg, still covered in bruises and the webbing she'd cut from the golem. She'd been fighting the Patron and his two pets. "What to do to someone when they're defenseless," she snarled, eyes settling on the male who was only standing about six feet away, flanked by one and a half web golems. She'd put some serious hurt on his minions. She would not forget the way he had twisted her broken arm or kicked the place where her ribs had been cracked until they snapped._

 _"Very good," the woman said, crimson eyes satisfied. She made a powerful gesture and the spell hit the Patron before he could even blink. He was trapped in place by the powerful effect. "Here is your opportunity."_

 _"What?" she said despite the fact that she knew exactly what the woman who had given birth to her was saying._

 _Lips curved into a cruel smile. "This is where we see if the lesson sticks, darling. Maim him. Gut him. Do your worst. We can heal him when you're finished."_

 _She felt her own hand tighten around the dagger, but she stayed frozen in place._

 _"This again, bug?" her scarred aunt taunted from beside her intended victims. "Weak. You've always been weak. Infirm of purpose. When the Matron finds out, what do you think she'll do to you?"_

 _"If you can't earn power, you don't deserve it, darling," the woman who gave birth to her purred, touching her back lightly. "And if you don't deserve it?"_

 _"You die," she found herself saying as she advanced on the Patron._

 _"He hurt you, darling. We know exactly what he would do in your place. A little reciprocity seems in order," the priestess said. "Doesn't it make you angry? Furious? All those times he's hurt you, demeaned you, laughed at you, taunted you…"_

 _Just like that, the anger was back, the fiery temper that scorched her from the inside out. So much of her life she tried to be calm and collected, but sometimes, she knew she was just like the Matron. The male drow's eyes still looked smug, as if he knew that she was going to lose her nerve. She'd frozen before, held back by some small voice inside of her that said her mother would be upset. This time was different, all the times she'd suffered at his hands rushing up from the bottom of her memory. She stepped forward and slammed the knife violently into his abdomen before twisting viciously. He let out an actual scream of pain and surprise. Female laughter surrounded her._

 _In the memory, she was too angry to think. Experiencing it over again, almost passively, some part of her was horrified by what she was doing to a helpless creature, even one who had made her life misery. Most of her recognized it was necessary, even with how young she was, but there was still some part of her, the part that her mother had tried so hard to preserve, that wanted to throw up or cry._

 _A gauntleted hand slapped her hard on the back. "Well, bug, looks like you are all grown up after all. Do it again."—_

 _—She could see the light leaving him. Worst of all, there was nothing she could do—_

Thraele's eyes flickered open, disoriented for a moment. She turned her head to look out the window. Judging by Narbondel, it had been about three hours. She could tell from her position that she hadn't tossed and turned or flailed despite the churning memories, a clear indication of how beaten and tired her body was. It was well past time to get up. She dragged her body up out of bed, ignoring all the twinges and aches. She still felt a world better.

Nalfein was finally stopped in his writing by her hand coming to rest on his shoulder. "Relax," she advised him, recognizing the tension in his shoulders. She'd seen it in Malagos too. "We should depart. We have to meet with Lythrana."

"I'll have a reply for you next time I see you," Nalfein said, turning in his seat to look at her. For some reason, Thraele almost seemed more tired now than she had when she'd first come in. She wasn't swaying any more or losing the focus, but there was something in her eyes that gave him the impression that her sleep had not been a particularly restful one in its own way. "You alright?"

"Yes," Thraele said even though she was getting the feeling that she might have been happier never knowing her past. Perhaps it was no uglier than average, but that still did not make it pleasant. "Before we go, what is your verdict regarding the letter? For the sake of our own curiosity, not Lythrana's."

"I'm…still thinking it over," Nalfein said. He offered her a small smile. "Thank you for doing this, Thraele. I know it's outside of your job description, and I know you're trying to be…helpful." He couldn't think of a better word, even though he wanted one. She always seemed to be looking out for him without at least overtly demanding anything. It was strange, but nice. Maybe that was part of the concept of a friend rather than an ally. Thraele would know better. She seemed almost more comfortable with duergar and svirfneblin and various other Underdark races than with her own people.

Thraele smiled faintly. "Thank us when you are happy. Until then, it is just hot air," she said. Her walk was still a little bit of a limp when she left. Nalfein frowned slightly as he watched her go. He was worried about her, as unnatural of an emotion as that was. Things between them were repaired again, but there was something hanging over Thraele's head that she wasn't talking about. Maybe it was just memories of the mindflayer brought to the surface.

* * *

"Oh good," Lythrana said as she pulled her hood back. They were now ensconced in a private booth in the Well of Darkness, a tavern that offered significant privacy to its customers through the use of _continual darkness_ spells that shrouded each booth and—in the more expensive booths—a ward of silence as well. "I thought I was going to have to do this alone."

"You would have been fine," Thraele said dismissively.

"Not if this goes wrong," Lythrana muttered. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. She could do this. She'd never made a deal of this magnitude before, but she had dealt with this particularly kind of Underdark denizen: powerful, wealthy, and from beyond Menzoberranzan's walls.

Another figure passed through the darkness. Laird Durna Thuldark of Gracklstugh was a powerful and influential woman in the Deepkingdom. Her blocky features were a little softer than average, deceptively friendly, and her dark hair was short and cropped rather than absent. Her thin, stern lips quirked up into a little smile at the sight of the drow noble. "Interesting," she said before taking a seat on the opposite side from them. "Well met, Revered Lythrana. When I heard from Nek Stonestrider that a drow noble wanted to meet with me, I hadn't expected I would be graced by a daughter of Menzoberranzan's second house."

"The pleasure is mine," Lythrana said in Dwarven, switching languages fluidly. Despite all of her concerns, she relaxed the moment she'd spoken.

There was a flicker in Durna's eyes that made Thraele smile faintly: the duergar laird was impressed. Durna chuckled. "You know, most drow don't bother to speak to me in my own tongue," she said. "But then again, I have heard that you have a remarkably dwarven mind—in the most complimentary fashion, of course."

"I'm flattered you think so," the noble said. Lythrana was actually pleased. It was a high compliment, considering how arrogant the duergar could be. They could hardly compete with the drow in that area, of course, but that was something of a race to the bottom as far as Lythrana was concerned. There was a soft rap on the wall near the booth, audible from this side even though their conversation would not be audible from the outside. Thraele stood up and passed through the wall of shadows and silence to claim their bottle of spicy duergar liqueur from the grimlock servant.

"Ah, a taste of home," Durna said, her eyes lighting up when she saw the bottle. She raised no objection to Thraele pouring them each a drink. The former thrall was doing her best to look like a dutiful servant, albeit one who was definitely a bodyguard. "Wonderful. I do love drow wine, but it's not the same."

"I hear you've been caught in Menzoberranzan for some time now," Lythrana said. "I thought you might appreciate the gesture."

"I do," Durna said with a small smile. "But a thoughtful drow is one who wants something."

Lythrana nodded. There was no point in even concealing it. She already knew of Durna by reputation. "I do have a…business offer," she said. "I can give you something that would be quite profitable for you for a long time, and it is an offer no one else in the city can make you, but only if I were to become Matron Mother: an untapped vein of hizagkuur." The metal in question was rare and more importantly, deflected a great deal of magic. It wasn't a large vein, not enough to re-armor the Deepkingdom's armies and create a large problem for Menzoberranzan, but certainly enough to armor Clan Thuldark's warriors and fill Durna's coffers.

The duergar's eyes gleamed with interest. "And how did you come by its locations?"

"A little project," Lythrana said, unwrapping the bundle she'd brought with her to produce the device that she and K'yorl had made. It glowed with a soft, purple-blue light as it slowly rotated on its stand, attuned perfectly to the ambient magical energies in the room.

Durna's eyes lit up. "Not an astrolabe, I take it? Fascinating, but we do have things that find metals, though perhaps not this well."

"It measures and catalogues the differences in faerz'ress," Lythrana said, an involuntary little smile creeping across her lips as she explained her work. "It's not finding the metal itself—it finds the disruption in the flow caused by the ore, or anything else that creates an effect. It's much more precise than anything either of our cities have managed before—I was in contact with some sages in Gracklstugh when I began research into the matter as well as with many scholars here in Menzoberranzan."

"Dwarf-headed indeed," Durna said. She leaned back thoughtfully and took a sip from her glass of her orange-colored liqueur. "I'm very interested. However, it is a big risk to back you if you make a power play, Revered Lythrana. I'll need a demonstration of your resources and capabilities before I commit to this."

Lythrana raised an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"

"Clearly you have an ingenious mind, but I need to know if you have and can command capable servants. Matrons are made and broken by the loyalties they wield. You cannot work your way to power alone, after all," Durna said. "So I propose a challenge. If you and your champions can complete the task, I will gladly give you my support in exchange for this ore vein."

"I'll need to know what this challenge is," Lythrana said. Thraele knew that the priestess was worried about what she might be sending her servant into. The former thrall appreciated the thought.

The duergar grinned. "Does it matter? You need what I can provide if you are going to be successful."

"And a successful woman does not walk into a game without knowing the rules," Lythrana countered.

Durna chuckled. "I _like_ you. Your sisters would have jumped without looking. It's strange to see a daughter of Mez'Barris without blind ambition," she said. "A mine went dark. We sent four patrols, none of which returned. One of them was lead by Thangardt Firehand. He is one of my favorite servants. I would like him retrieved alive—I have reason to believe he is still very much breathing—and the mine cleared of enemies. A quaggoth shaman or priest of some stripe has set himself up there with a group of powerful ogre warriors under his command. What happens to them, I don't care, so long as they leave or die."

Lythrana fought the urge to look over at Thraele for a reassurance. "We can do that," she said firmly. "Is there a time limit?"

"Their patience with Thangardt, despite his winning personality and significant charm, will not be eternal," Durna said. "So I would suggest you depart soon. I can have a servant bring over the map showing the mine's location this evening, if that is agreeable."

"It is." The drow priestess smiled at her counterpart. "We have an agreement, then?"

Durna nodded and held out her hand. It wasn't rough and calloused like so many duergar hands—she was a trader. By the same token, Lythrana's hands were not exactly as soft and unblemished as a drow noble's should have been, not with all her work in the forge. It made Durna grin a little. "I look forward to someday calling you Matron, Lythrana of House Barrison Del'Armgo."


	11. The Duergar's Warning

Nek made a grumbling noise and kicked a loose stone across the cavern floor with vengeful intensity, then muttered something unflattering about drow under his breath. Thraele laughed. "You don't have to come," she said with amusement. The deep gnome had agreed reluctantly to accompany herself, Lythrana, Sindyrrith, and Malagos. But now, as they were looking at the four powerful ogres guarding the main shaft entrance, he seemed to be reconsidering.

"Can't leave your sorry asses," he grumbled.

"This will be somewhat challenging," Lythrana admitted quietly. She was sitting just at the edge of the shadows that wreathed their overlook point, hidden under her piwafwi. "Then again, if it were easy, we wouldn't be the ones doing it. This bunch is particularly ugly, aren't they?"

"You think?" Sindyrrith said. A grin was slowly creeping across the shadowdancer's face. "So seduction is right out, then."

"She's joking," Malagos grunted when he saw Lythrana's eyes widen a little bit. "Sindyrrith, at least pretend to take this seriously."

The agent sighed. "Fine, steal all the joy out of my life. Honestly, Malagos, it's like you have some kind of sickness. This will be perfectly delightful mayhem and yet you insist upon being dour. I'm telling your future wife when we get back." Still, Thraele could see Sindyrrith settle down and focus her attention. "They will have at least a half dozen other entrances, though they're probably hidden magically. Duergar build their mines with auxiliary shafts so they can drag slaves out when they break without interfering as much, as well as to distribute ore to different routes and to allow air to flow so dangerous gasses don't build up."

"We would rather not have them know we are here before we have Thangardt," Thraele said dryly.

Nek tapped one of his enchanted bolts against his chin. "Ogres don't like fair fights," he said. "At least, not in my experience. Even got a little brain to back up that brawn, too. That's a big old open space where those javelins could kill us dead before we even get to them. You know what I don't understand? How the hells a quaggoth is smart enough to give them orders."

"I was wondering about that," Lythrana admitted. "The quaggoths I've met were not highly intelligent."

"They had a whole kingdom once," Sindyrrith said, tucking her thumbs behind her belt as she leaned against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles. "Ursadunthar. It was conquered by the duergar. I hesitate to call anything that can run a kingdom stupid, even if most of them can barely string together a sentence. Granted, there is a more likely scenario: the quaggoth isn't actually the thing giving them orders."

Thraele cocked her head ever so slightly. "You heard something."

Sindyrrith nodded. "I like to do my research, what can I say? An acquaintance of mine in Bregan D'aerthe mentioned that this wasn't always a mine. There was an excavation here that went deep—a construction site, an old one. Not drow, but something else ancient and powerful. And it looks to me like the river there runs into the mine, which suggests a lake. Water in addition to an ancient, foreboding temple lost in the stone and creatures acting like they normally wouldn't makes me hesitant. Four duergar patrols going missing too? That's something dangerous."

Thraele went rigid as she spotted something out by the mouth of the mine entrance near the lounging ogres. "There is a duergar there," she said, pointing. "With Thuldark markings on his breastplate." A definite sense of unease was starting in her stomach. Sindyrrith was right. Something was amiss.

"Looks like Durna has some turncoats," Malagos grunted.

Lythrana's jaw tightened. "I sincerely hope that's the explanation," the priestess of Lloth said. "Whatever the case, `we need another entrance." She lifted her spyglass up to her eye again and hunted across the huge outcropping of rock that was the beginning of the mine. "There, all the way at the edge and up about eighty feet. I see an opening in the rock. It could be a natural cave or a shaft, but it looks like it's in the right place."

Sindyrrith shouldered her coil of silk rope. Between all of their equipment, they would have plenty to climb. Their agent had brought special rings that held themselves to the rock face with magic rather than pitons that required loud hammering.

Thraele looked at their gnome. "What do you think, Nek?"

"The way it's facing, we'll be out of their view for the first fifty feet. After that, well, better hope they don't look up," Nek said grimly, adjusting how his crossbow was slung across his back. "Other than that? I got a real bad feeling, girly."

"Agreed," the former thrall said quietly as she started towards the passageway. She and Nek took the lead as scouts, leaving Malagos, Lythrana, and Sindyrrith together.

"Have healing spells prepared?" the agent asked their priestess. She was used to Alassëa, who used those almost exclusively.

"As many as I could," Lythrana said with a nod. It would leave her relying heavily on her new allies, but Malagos owed her significantly, Sindyrrith was reliable enough, and Nek seemed to be friendly with Thraele. A risk, but one she was reasonably confident taking. "Though that may make me something of a handicap in battle."

"Not if you keep us alive," Malagos pointed out. He sighed as he looked up the eighty feet to the entrance they were going to be using. "I hate heights."

"Thraele, you're up first," Sin said, passing off the rings to the former thrall. "I trust you've got that gear I gave you on."

Thraele nodded, adjusting the enchanted gloves on her hands. They were black leather, fingertips rough but palms smooth as silk. She was wearing matching boots that together allowed her the benefits of the spell _spiderclimb_ without actually having to cast it. The agreement was that she would go up first, just in case there was trouble. Lythrana would be next, then Malagos, then Sindyrrith, and finally Nek. The svirfneblin was responsible for pulling up the rings as he went, a somewhat dangerous task but one that he could easily handle. Thraele took the rope from Sindyrrith and Nek that was tied together, offering them a hundred feet of silk rope. That would be plenty to get them up to their destination. It was a bit of a walk around to their point of ascension, going as carefully and quietly as possible to avoid the notice of the ogres. The duergar was gone, apparently a messenger who returned deeper into the mines. Thraele started climbing, marking every ten feet with a ring that she passed the rope through.

It was quite the climb. By the time they reached the top, even Malagos was ready for a break. Then again, he was hauling a lot more weight than the rest of them. "Don't think they saw us," Nek said once they helped Malagos up over the edge.

Lythrana rubbed her arms, muscles burning from exertion. "Going down should be fun."

"If everything goes well, we'll be leaving through the front door," Sindyrrith pointed out. "Thraele, where'd you go?"

The former thrall returned from her tentative scouting. What had looked like a crag turned into a small tunnel that quickly became a deep passage cut into the rock. There were no carvings on the walls, but there were some duergar markings. Dozens of smaller passages cut off from this one at irregular intervals, likely to ventilate smaller shafts. "It is a warren," she warned.

Sindyrrith pulled out a couple of pieces of chalk as Malagos pulled up the rope. He would carry it with him, just in case they needed to make another climb or a descent. "I'll mark our passage," she said. "Let's be on our way, ladies and gentlemen. And please, let's at least pretend we're going to be careful."

Thraele lead the way through the dark passages with Lythrana on her heels, operating on her own instincts and Lythrana's knowledge of the average duergar mine. They went up and down, left and right, but ever deeper. The floors sloped ever so slightly down, meaning they were continuing to descend. Eventually, their passageway broke out into an actual mining tunnel, deposits of ore streaking the stone walls. "I wonder where all the miners went," Malagos said quietly as they continued to walk.

"I sincerely doubt we'll like the answer," Lythrana murmured.

Thraele heard footsteps and held out a hand to halt her companions. Someone was running in a full-tilt, linear panic towards them. Sindyrrith moved to one side of the hall, concealed behind a pillar, opposite of Malagos, and motioned for him to throw her an end of the spidersilk rope. It took him a split second, but then he realized what she was thinking and obediently tossed it. Everyone did their best to conceal themselves.

The duergar in dark plate armor—marked as one of Durna's people—didn't even see it coming, his head turned like he was trying to see over his shoulder despite his limited field of view due to his helm. The rope hit him mid chest, clotheslining him neatly. He hit the ground _hard,_ only to be immediately grabbed by Malagos and drug into a side passage out of view of the route he'd been running down. The rest of the group was waiting there. The duergar ripped off his helm and looked up at them with terrified eyes.

"Relax, we're the rescue party," Malagos said, holding out his hands. He ended up having to plant a foot on the duergar's chest to stop him from running long enough to question him. The duergar was in no mood to listen to reason, which worried Thraele.

"No! You have to run!" the duergar panted. "It's awake!"

Thraele felt her stomach knot into a tight ball. The bad feeling was beginning to intensify sharply. "What's awake?" she asked in a low, measured tone.

Those almost painfully wide eyes focused on her face. "The god in the lake," he said, voice high and shrill.

"Vith," Lythrana hissed. That did not sound good. She shifted uncomfortably, hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "We should have brought a patrol."

"They'd probably have just slowed us down. I suppose it's too much to hope that it's a benevolent god," Sindyrrith said with a dry humor. She snapped her fingers in front of the twitching, panting duergar until he focused on her instead of the passageway he'd come from. "Hey, where's Thangardt?"

The duergar shook his head. "It has him," he whispered. "It's too late."

"That sounds less than promising," Malagos commented, leaning down a little harder as the duergar tried to squirm free of the pin. The half orc was sympathetic, but he also wanted answers and this was the best opportunity they were likely going to have to get some.

Lythrana crouched down beside the duergar. "You're going to be alright," she said calmly in Dwarven. She wanted to be soothing, but she sincerely doubted it would be effective. "But first you have to tell us what the god in the lake is. Do you understand me?"

"A voice," the terrified grey dwarf whispered. "A beautiful, horrible, _old_ voice. It came from the city."

"There's a whole city down here? I mean, a temple I can see, but a city?" Sindyrrith said, surprised and somewhat less than thrilled. It meant trouble, she was certain of that. Nek didn't look particularly pleased with this unexpected turn either. "I take Durna left _that_ out of her little briefing, Thraele."

"She mentioned only a mine," Thraele said with a frown. "Perhaps it is something they unearthed?"

"What about the shaman? Did you see a quaggoth shaman?" Lythrana asked the grey dwarf as calmly as she could despite the fact that she could feel her own nerves starting to creep up on her. None of this sounded like it would make for an easy extraction and the words 'god in the lake' were ominous, particularly if their duergar was afraid of it.

"A servant of the voice, yes, like the ogres," the duergar said. His face twisted up in distress. "And the others. All the others."

"Why are they helping the voice?" Malagos asked, still not removing the foot he had planted on the duergar's chest.

"You can't _not_ help it," the Thuldark warrior whispered. "It gets into your head and sinks in hooks. It won't let you go. It is a nightmare out of time. It never relents. You're nothing to it. Just a puppet."

Thraele's blood ran cold at that. It was hard not to think immediately of her time with Deu'ra. What would she do if it was another creature like that? Did she have the will to resist? She'd broken free of the mindflayer's grasp, but only because he was distracted. This creature, if it could enthrall so many, was far more powerful. Four patrols of duergar? Some unknown number of ogres and a quaggoth? This was a force to be reckoned with. "How did you escape?" she demanded, voice hard as anger rose in answer to that residual fear.

"Easy, Thraele," Lythrana said.

"I don't know. I think it forgot about me once it had Thangardt and the others. So I hid," he whispered. They could see him trembling in his armor. "And then I ran. Please, let me go. I have to get out of here."

"You're better off staying with us, you know," Sindyrrith said. "The way we came in is eighty feet off the ground."

"No, no! I won't go back!" the duergar said with a sudden frantic panic at the idea of not being able to escape.

"Then hide," Lythrana said, trying to be understanding. His fear wasn't unreasonable if he was describing the truth of the creature's nature. "We'll come find you when it's over."

"You'll be like the rest," the duergar said in a hollow voice. His face was that of a creature terrified into near paralytic helplessness now that he couldn't move. Fleeing was the imperative that dominated his mind. "Leave while you still can."

Malagos moved his foot off the duergar's chest, allowing the grey dwarf to clamber up to his feet and run. "I think we have a problem," the half orc said grimly as they watched the panicked duergar vanish into the darkness of the tunnel warrens.

"Shoulda killed him," Nek commented. He felt it was the more pragmatic and perhaps more merciful option, rather than allowing the fleeing duergar to be recaptured. "Might mention we're here if somebody grabs him."

Sindyrrith shrugged. "Too late now," she said. Inwardly, she felt bad for the duergar, but she would never show that in front of a priestess of Lloth. "I doubt he'll remember us after a few corners anyway. That kind of fear owns you."

Thraele was standing quietly at the edge of the group, her eyes downcast as she tried to figure out how she felt about this new information. Part of her was afraid, but the vast majority of her being was consumed by that same, burning anger that had risen to the surface against the succubus and then again with Nalfein. The idea of something enslaving other people in that way, particularly people she liked and cared about—Nek, Lythrana, Malagos, and Sin—sent white-hot rage coursing through her veins. She could feel her hands starting to tremble with it, her jaw locking up. Deu'ra was dead and she couldn't kill him again, no matter how much he deserved it, but she could certainly kill this 'god in the lake'.

"You okay, girly?" Nek said, watching as the former thrall began to tense. He could easily recognize anger in the way her lips pressed into a thin line and her eyes narrowed.

"This cannot be allowed to continue," Thraele said, her tone hard.

"Agreed," Lythrana said with a sharp nod. She felt the same twinge for the duergar that Sindyrrith had. Weakness, yes, but she couldn't help it. She actually held some fondness for a few duergar in her life, which made it hard to write them off as vermin as many drow nobles did. "Nek, do you have any idea what we could be facing?"

"I'm hoping real hard it's a cursed artifact," Nek said grimly. "Because I don't rightly like the alternative. Wouldn't want to guess without more information, though."

"Then we move," Thraele said firmly. "We will know our enemy when we hear it." Without waiting for a response, she stalked off back down the hallway towards where the dwarf had come from. Lythrana immediately followed, the pair of them moving almost in concert. They made an excellent team.

"Lythrana's certainly less domineering than her mother. I think Mez'Barris would have just exploded," Malagos commented quietly to Sindyrrith as they followed. He hadn't expected the noble to just take Thraele's command—it couldn't be mistaken for anything else—in stride.

"Very interesting," the agent said by way of agreement. In Sindyrrith's estimation, it was both a good thing and a bad thing. Lythrana was going to need to be more forceful by the time this was through, if she really did intend to be Matron, but in the meantime, there were worse people to follow than Thraele. The former thrall wasn't inclined to do Lythrana intentional harm, for one. "It says more about our foundling than it does Lythrana."

"Hmm?" Malagos said.

"Every time she gets stressed, she reverts to a commander's role, even when she's trying to follow," Sindyrrith said. "I do believe our little Thraele was a noble and probably a priestess at that."

Malagos raised an eyebrow at the idea. "Well, she'd make a hell of a Matron."

"Yes, she would," the agent said thoughtfully, eyes fixed on Thraele's back as they followed.

* * *

The moment she laid eyes on it, Thraele inhaled in a sharp hiss of breath. The tunnel they were following broke out into a gargantuan cavern, easily the size of the one Menzoberranzan had been constructed in. It was dominated almost entirely by a vast, dark lake that lapped against rocky shores, but what drew her attention was the city half submerged in those stygian waters. They were buildings like she had never seen before, alien lines that defied normal geometry twisting and curving together to form spires of occluded, lumpy, glass-like material. Even Sin and Nek looked struck by it, the construction of this area a universe away from anything else they'd ever experienced. Its greyish-black towers conveyed a sense of malevolence that even the cruelest of drow would have struggled to create. It was worthy of an illithid enclave, but there were none to be seen—only the dark lake waters and the sound of waves.

"Looks like the duergar dug too deep," Nek said, his voice so muted and subdued as they looked at the mammoth construction that the others almost didn't hear him.

"The city isn't intact," Lythrana said in her normal voice, breaking through the oppressive silence. "Look at the towers more closely. The architecture has sustained heavy damage. There are holes, jagged edges, missing chunks. Whatever empire this belonged to, it's an empire no longer." Her mechanical mind was already at work, something soothing to both herself and Thraele. "I wonder what it's made out of."

"That's the first question you ask?" Malagos said almost incredulously.

"Would you prefer I panic?" Lythrana asked him with a raised eyebrow. She knew that as long as she looked at this as an intellectual exercise, she would be able to stave off the mounting dread. "Thraele, Sindyrrith, how are you two doing?"

"Both wishing we had a boat and simultaneously being grateful we don't," the agent said. "I do not trust that lake."

Thraele held her finger against her lips and leaned into the shadows. Two ogres emerged from an entrance below and off to the left, one of them dragging a helpless but struggling duergar along. It was too far away to tell whether or not it was the grey dwarf they'd seen before, but Thraele had a sneaking suspicion it might be from the inarticulate screaming. There was a small jetty poking out into the water with a large raft and several smaller boats moored at it. The larger of the two ogres slammed the duergar into the ground a few times until he stopped struggling effectively and then tossed the creature onto the raft. The two of them then stepped out onto the raft and began guiding it out onto the lake, towards the city.

"Did I ever mention how much my armor does not agree with deep water?" Malagos muttered.

"Do we _have_ to go rescue the duergar?" Nek grumbled.

"It is what we're here to do," Lythrana pointed out, her tone surprisingly reasonable for a priestess of Lloth. But then again, that was the artificer in a nutshell: logical by nature.

"Sin?" Thraele said, looking over at the agent.

The older drowess was staring at the lake with an expression of supreme distrust. "Revered Lythrana is right," she said finally. "We're here to rescue Thangardt and clear the mine. So as much as I hate to say this, let's find a boat and get out to those towers."

"Does the lake count as part of the mine?" Nek said. "Because I'm not exactly equipped for underwater warfare."

"I'm thinking that once she knows about this place, Durna's going to be a lot less inclined to come back," Malagos said uneasily as they started down the slopes towards the boats. There was a distinct absence of lookouts, which did nothing to make him feel any better.

They stowed their gear in one of the boats, which were ogre sized and thus had plenty of room for all of them. Then they pushed off, maneuvering away from the dock with oars while Nek manned the rudder. Even Lythrana took an oar across from Thraele, a lot stronger than she looked from all that work in the forges. Even if she wasn't doing the heaviest work, Lythrana was still laboring hard every day she was in there, which was far more often than not. It took them a while to get their rhythm together and the boat going in a smooth path, but before too long they were headed right for the city, boat gliding through the inky water.

"Bad feeling's getting worse," Nek admitted freely as they started to get close to the city. It was even more gargantuan up close than it had been at a distance, and to think, most of it was likely still submerged.

"What do you think built it?" Lythrana said, neck craned as she studied the towers and weird, twisted arches rising above them.

"I don't want to find out," Sin said. A segment of shoreline had been created by a broken tower that had fallen at an angle, creating a horizontal layer of stone that the water washed over. It would be smooth and slippery, but it was still technically solid ground. "I hope everyone's good on their feet."

Malagos grunted and tightened his grip on his oar. "Nek, can you bring us in close? I don't want to jump," he said. "I'll go right to the bottom."

"No problem, big guy," Nek said, adjusting the rudder. Together, they steered the boat until it bumped up against the stone. Thraele was the first out of the boat, taking the lead line so they could moor it to the stone using one of the enchanted rings. They were some distance away from where the raft had gone, but she could hear deep ogre voices nearby. Moving quietly would be more difficult with the water, at least if they tried to move with any speed. It didn't help that they were currently completely lacking any kind of cover. "We bringing the gear?"

 _I'd rather not leave it in the boat,_ Sindyrrith signed.

There was a general nod of agreement. Most of their supplies had been cached just north of the mine, so they were traveling light enough that it wouldn't have much of an impact on stealth. Thraele crouched down as she snuck along the edge of the path ahead of the others with Nek. The slab of stone had fallen through another tower, creating a flat space inside the massive, hollow building where she could hear voices coming from.

 _Are we going to fight them?_ Lythrana signed to Malagos and Sin.

 _Depends on your bodyguard,_ Sin answered, fingers flicking dexterously.

Thraele held up a hand to stall the others as she neared the cracked opening. She could hear grunts and the rough sounds of Giant, but she didn't speak the language to grasp what was being said. She pulled up her hood and eased around the corner, eyebrows rising slightly when she saw what the ogre was attempting to communicate with. The second creature was a hideous, green-black fish-like humanoid with muscular limbs, webbed hands and feet that were complete with nasty looking claws, veiny flesh, a tail, and fins across its body. The most noticeable one was a dorsal fin that started at the top of its big, ugly head and ran down its back. She glanced over at Nek, to gauge the svirfneblin's reaction to the unusual sight.

"Skum," he whispered to her so quietly there was little chance of anyone hearing.

Thraele motioned to his crossbow, unslinging her own. Sindyrrith had suggested it for the mission and they'd spent the better part of the past two weeks of travel practicing until she was a decent shot. There was no way a single bolt would kill either of those creatures, but a liberal dose of drow sleep poison might bring them down. Both she and Nek had treated their bolts with it. She didn't want to kill them if she didn't have to, not if they were thralls like she had been. _I have the ogre,_ she signed to him. Nek gave her a little nod and then together, they fired.

Their aim was pretty good, though hers was slightly less precise: she hit the ogre in the back and he hit the skum in the neck. Both creatures grabbed for their weapons and started advancing towards the direction the bolts had come from, but both of them collapsed well before they could reach Thraele or Nek. The svirfneblin motioned for the rest of the group to approach.

"And here I thought the ogres were ugly," Lythrana murmured, the first to step in after them. She was looking at the fish-like humanoid with broad, fleshy lips and sharp, needle-like teeth. Its eyes were glassy, nictitating membrane half-closed as it slumped over in unconsciousness.

Thraele picked up one of the ogre's javelins. It looked like a long-spear in her hands. "Nek mentioned it is called a skum," she said in a very low voice.

"He has a spellbook," Sindyrrith said, peeling the wet book out of the skum's bag. It was damp, but magic was repelling the water on its pages and preserving the ink. "Dwarvish. If I had to guess, I would say this belongs to Thangardt." She tucked it away in her bag. "Malagos, would you hand me the rope? We can tie them up while they're—" Sindyrrith paused, looking around. "Vith. I stop paying attention to him for a minute..."

Malagos was gone.

"He didn't step off the side," Lythrana said after taking a very, very deep breath. "We would have heard the splash."

Thraele's hand tightened on the spear. "We need to find him," she said. She wasn't panicking, but she wasn't happy either. All of them clumped together a little more tightly even as they looked around at the vast ocean of darkness that surrounded them. The only thing they could hear was the lapping of water at the stone. Malagos was nowhere in sight and making no sound. The soft clink of his armor was gone.

"He'll turn up," Nek muttered. "We just might not like how."


	12. The Battle

Exploring the immediate area yielded no clues to Malagos's whereabouts other than the obvious: Malagos had to be deeper in, because the boat was still moored where they'd left it. This time, no one scouted ahead. They were all quiet, except for maybe Lythrana sometimes, so there was no need to send out an advance. There was, however, a pressing need not to be separated. The brooding towers were linked by a series of walkways much like the one they'd initially landed at. Thraele kept her ogre javelin to use as a spear with her sword in reserve, while Nek moved with his crossbow at the ready. Sindyrrith and Lythrana both had their blades drawn as they crept forward. The sound of voices murmuring in multiple languages was gradually growing.

"More than I was hoping for," Sindyrrith murmured. She couldn't gauge how many there were, not with the distortion of echoes and water, but the answer as they approached the central tower was 'more than a few'. She gripped her shortsword a little more tightly. The pressure exerted by her fingers only intensified when they passed through the arch to see that the building was hollow, ringed by levels of stone crowded with creatures croaking or growling in anticipation. There were ogres, quaggoths, skum, and duergar all around. And there, at the edge of the water, was Malagos standing with his great-sword in hand. He was facing their direction, but with his helm on, it was impossible to read his features.

"Trap," Nek hissed.

 _I've been waiting for you,_ a sibilant voice whispered from the depths as it rose, slithering into their consciousness. The creature surfaced in a splash that brought cheers from the assembled creatures. Long and powerful tentacles broke through the water, followed by a bulbous head. Three malevolent, red, slit-shaped eyes devoid of pupils gazed in their direction, each one guarded by bony ridges. They sat one atop the other, above a strange and constantly twitching mouth that seemed small but could open into a yawning hole of razor-lined death in a split second. A giant tail lashed the surface. It had to be at least twenty feet long, covered in grey slime that was exuded by each pulse of the black orifices that lined the bottom of its body.

"Aboleth," Lythrana muttered as every head turned towards them in perfect unison. They were exposed now—there was no point in attempting to maintain stealth.

 _Very good,_ the voice said. It sounded pleased. _Though I prefer Nelid'leith. There is something graceful about the way the drow say what they fear the most._

"You flatter yourself if you think you are the worst thing we can dream up," Thraele said harshly, gripping her spear more tightly. She could feel the hate burning deeper and deeper. She wasn't certain what was going to be left unscathed.

Her response, lacking appropriate deference, seemed to anger the creature if the agitated lashing of tentacles was any indication. However, it did not attack. _Your warrior has divulged your secrets to me. You will give me the one known as Lythrana, second daughter of House Barrison Del'Armgo._

"Come and claim me. Better have tried and failed," Thraele snarled before Lythrana or any of the others could respond. It might kill her, but if she could keep her friend protected, it would be worth it. There was no way in any of the Nine Hells she would be giving the noble to the creature. The damage it could do with Lythrana under its thrall would be catastrophic. Better it make this mistake.

 _Arrogant to the last,_ the creature chuckled, whipping a tentacle at Thraele. _Kill the others, thrall._ The tentacle knocked Thraele's feet out from under her, forcing her to almost drop the spear, and curled around her ankle. She was ripped away from the rest of them, flung high into the air by the tentacle as another swept in to grasp her body around the middle.

Malagos leaped at his companions with his blade drawn. Without Alassëa to break him out of it, Sindyrrith knew they were going to be in for a hell of a fight. On the bright side, Nek still had his crossbow bolts dipped in sleep poison. On the less bright side, finding a chink in Malagos's armor would take time—offering the half-orc ample opportunity to cleave through Sindyrrith and Lythrana. The shadowdancer grabbed Lythrana's hair and pulled, turning her intention to shout after Thraele into an inarticulate yelp of pain. "Focus on Mal!" the agent shouted without a hint of apology. "It won't kill her!"

"She—" Lythrana started to say, but her body was already responding under pressure as Malagos closed the distance in a fraction of a second, throwing her blade up in a desperate parry.

"We can't help her now!" Nek bellowed as Sindyrrith flung herself backwards, out of the way of the half orc's scything blade.

If it had been anyone but Lythrana's, Malagos's blade would have sheared through and become a fatal blow to the head. However, the priestess had engineered her weapon herself, and so the adamantium alloy bit into Malagos's blade in return, notching the his edge deeply even as it turned the half-orc's sword. The defense knocked Lythrana back a few steps, but she'd survived, which was a hell of a lot more than what Nek and Sindyrrith had expected. Malagos was a monster on the battlefield, even at his weakest, and Lythrana wasn't nearly as experienced in battle as her sisters.

"Nek, trap him!" Sindyrrith shouted, pouring a vial of sleep potion across her blade. It was the best she could do at the last minute.

The svirfneblin ranger flung a tanglefoot bag at the half-orc, but he bulled through the suddenly expanding goo like it wasn't even there as he went after Lythrana again. Sindyrrith leaped forward into a roll and came up on her feet behind their warrior, doused with water but not fazed in the slightest.

Meanwhile, Thraele could feel the aboleth battering away at her will. She felt a lot stronger this time, the scars of where her mind had been shattered now serving to shore up her defenses like a network of supports. More than that, she had something that she hadn't when Deu'ra claimed her: pure, incandescent rage. Currently, she was airborne again, being tossed and battered back and forth in an effort to break her concentration. It wasn't enough to be lethal, since she was making contact with the surface of the water rather than the rock—not that there was much difference between the two. Her constant maneuverings left the aboleth struggling to keep a consistent hold on her, and she'd managed to pierce its tentacles with the spear on multiple occasions.

In a split second between assaults as she went toe to toe with their fighter, Lythrana broke a bead off of the web-like black choker she was wearing and hurled it into Malagos's face. It exploded, expanding into a white web of energy that blew him backwards and immediately adhered to the ground despite the water. He struggled fiercely, a mix of Orcish and Drow curses falling from his tongue as he tried to free himself. For all of her flaws, Lythrana did try to come prepared for a variety of occasions. The best part was that she had eight more at her disposal. Considering Malagos was currently being held by his head and upper body—nearly being suffocated—she figured it would take him a while to work his way out.

"Atta girl!" Nek crowed, relieved that they wouldn't have to do wound to their friend.

"We need to get to Thraele!" the priestess panted out the moment the half orc was on the ground swearing, looking around for her friend. Her eyes caught Thraele just in time to see the former thrall hurtling towards them, finally flung by an infuriated aboleth in a last ditch effort to get into her mind.

Thraele hit the stone _hard_. She felt something give when she hit on her side, in both her hip and shoulder. Pain exploded through her already beaten body and blackness surged up to meet her. As it did, the aboleth's mind pierced her defenses and she felt the cold shock of a compulsion to obey—for about a split second.

 _If you can't earn it, you don't deserve it. If you don't deserve it, you die,_ voices whispered in her ears in unison, repeated so many times through so many memories.

The former thrall forced herself back up as Lythrana and the others rushed towards her. She barreled past her friends, grabbing Lythrana's sword as she went, picking up speed as she ran on a leg that didn't want to support her right at the aboleth that wasn't expecting her to get up under her own power. Thraele hurled herself into the creature's body sword-first. The aboleth shrieked in pain and wrapped its tentacles around her body before surging towards the depths, tail flashing in an instant. Malagos and every other creature in the area were suddenly freed from their compulsions as it focused its everything on Thraele in an agonized rage.

A sudden hush fell on the creatures that had been chanting as they were returned to their own power.

"Thraele!" Sindyrrith shouted as they skidded to the edge of the water. Only their reflections, distorted by the swiftly calming waves, looked back at them. "Lythrana, do you know the spell _water breathing_?"

"I don't have it prepared," Lythrana panted. "I'd need to pray for a few hours—hours that we don't have."

"Crazy bitch!" Nek shouted in anger, almost ready to throw down his crossbow and dive in anyway. "I coulda told her not to do it!"

"And she wouldn't have listened anyway," Sindyrrith snapped. "Head together, Nek!"

Lythrana pulled in a deep breath and looked around. "I think she broke it," she said, noting the stunned looks. Her eyes widened slightly. "Malagos!" She didn't want their warrior to suffocate.

"Your spell's still got him," Nek said grimly, not leaving the edge. His eyes were fixed on the surface of the dark water. He knew he couldn't do much but wait and hope.

"I'll cut him loose and we'll think of something," Lythrana said, drawing her dagger. It would take her at least a full minute to saw through enough of the webbing for Malagos to tear himself free.

Beneath the surface, the battle still raged. _I will have you, dead or alive!_ the creature raved, pounding harder and harder at the walls of Thraele's will. She wrenched on the sword as hard as she could. Without light, it was impossible to tell how deep they were, but she could feel her body starting to burn with want of air. The slime on the tentacles burned at her skin, trying to work its horrible transformation on her. She could feel it beginning to take hold, so she twisted the blade more and more violently. The creature shrieked psionically and thrashed, tentacles and fins churning the water so badly that it felt like she was being battered to death. Her whole left side was screaming in pain as she felt the urge to take a deep breath becoming painful.

Thraele pushed the sword in deeper and deeper until she hit something. Suddenly, merciful silence. The howling gales of force that were assaulting her will abruptly abated. The aboleth's body went still and began to drift slowly towards the surface. If she didn't let go of the sword, she knew that she would die. The drowess didn't really care, but instinct bid her let go and kick free of the creature towards the surface.

She flailed towards air as the blackness surged in. In her heart of hearts, she knew she was going to die before she ever made it to the surface. A bulk hit her from beneath—the aboleth's corpse rising—and propelled her upwards when her body gave out. She inhaled sharply, desperately, and the water came surging in.

Then she broke through the surface, her coughing and sputtering body resting on the aboleth's hulk, laying right next to the sword that was still piercing deeply into the aberration's body.

Nek had never been so happy to see a living, breathing drow in his whole life. "Lythrana!" he shouted, drawing the priestess's attention from where she was helping Malagos up off the ground. Immediately, the noble sprinted his way, a healing spell at her fingertips. They couldn't quite reach her, at least not until an ogre reached out with a javelin and hooked one of the aboleth's fins, tugging Thraele towards shore. Sindyrrith leaned out and hooked the convulsing drow's body with an acrobat's strength, dragging her up onto the stone shore.

Lythrana had never woven a healing spell so fast in her life before. The surge of energy expelled the water out of Thraele's lungs and prompted a reflexive gasp of fresh air. Nek resisted the temptation to shake their unconscious friend and instead slapped her lightly on the cheeks in an effort to wake her up.

Malagos pulled the anxious svirfneblin away. "Lythrana has her," the half-orc said. He knew he'd be apologizing to the noble in the near future, but in the meantime, they had a small army of armed creatures surrounding them. "She'll be fine."

"Hells she will!" the now-furious deep gnome shouted as he struggled unsuccessfully to break free of the half-orc's powerful hold. "Drow and their priestesses! If it hadn't thought she was a priestess, a noble—!"

"Then it would have killed her," Sindyrrith said with a sigh, picking up her weapon as she eyed the approaching creatures. It was hard to tell if they were hostile or not, since most of them had weapons and armor.

"What was it doing, giving her a hug?" the svirfneblin raged.

"Killed it!" one of the quaggoths bellowed, pointing at the small group. His long, shaggy white fur was dyed into strange patterns that seemed somewhat magical in nature. "Killed the voice!"

"What about it, furball?" Nek snarled ferociously, jerking towards the creature. "We've got plenty for you too!"

Malagos shook the gnome forcefully to silence him. "Nek," he said warningly.

"No," the quaggoth said, coming forward. He was carrying a nasty looking great maul made out of a heavy, rough stone head and a wrought iron haft. The creature set its weapon down on the stone. "Not fight. Thank."

"Oh good," Sindyrrith said, feeling a little bit of weight leave her shoulders. She sheathed her weapon and then plopped down onto the stone. "I was worried there for a second."

"Alright!" Lythrana called to the others. "She's stable. Not going to die or anything."

Nek sagged with relief. "She's in big trouble when she wakes up," he muttered darkly.

"What's the damage?" Malagos said, approaching.

Lythrana had moved Thraele so that she was laying on her uninjured side. The priestess was kneeling next to her, brow furrowed in concentration. One of the ogres had folded a pelt that he had been wearing around his shoulders and handed it off to the drow priestess for use as a pillow. The unconscious drowess looked a lot smaller and younger like this. "The injuries are bad," the priestess said, still carefully tailoring her healing spells to her friend's injuries. "But nothing I can't heal. She'll have to exercise her shoulder for the next few months, though. I put her hip back completely in place and the ribs are coming along in their own time." There was a soft cracking noise from Thraele's body and Lythrana leaned back on her heels. "That was them. She's good."

"So why isn't she waking up?" Nek demanded.

"Exhaustion," Lythrana said frostily. She didn't like it when people used that tone with her. "Turns out swimming while drowning is hard on the body."

"Snarky," Sindyrrith said with amusement. "I like it." She reached over and patted Nek on the shoulder. "Your girly is going to be fine, Nek, provided you don't kill her when she wakes up."

"So what do we do now?" Malagos asked.

"Wait," the priestess said with a shrug. She looked up at the duergar. "Durna Thuldark sent us. Where is Thangardt Firehand? We have his spell-book for him."

"Here," a deep duergar voice answered. Thangardt made his way through the group. He was a sturdy grey dwarf in wizardly robes, his dark eyes focusing on the still form beside Lythrana for a moment before looking up at her. "You are our rescue?"

"It would appear so," Sindyrrith said, pulling out his spell-book. She returned it to him with a little flourish, eyeing the enchanted rings on his fingers. At least one was a ring of spell storing—not so helpless after all, even without his tome. She was grateful it hadn't come to blows with him. Malagos was bad enough. "Sindyrrith Tuin. Your fellow thrall is Malagos Orok. The very, very angry gnome is Nek Stonestrider. Our resident cleric is Lythrana of House Barrison Del'Armgo and her patient is Thraele. Now that introductions are out of the way, please tell me that was the only aboleth in this city."

"You are correct," Thangardt said. "Sometimes its memories bled through the link. It recalled being the last of its kind in this lake."

"Wonderful," Sindyrrith said. "We'll get headed back to Gracklstugh in a day or two, once Thraele is rested. Can we move her somewhere a little more comfortable?"

"Yes, there are sleeping quarters that way," Thangardt said, pointing through another archway. "They are a bit lacking, but there is a fire."

"Good," Lythrana said. "I didn't heal her just to have her die of hypothermia."

The other creatures looked at each other. "What about us?" the quaggoth shaman asked ponderously. "We have nowhere to go."

Lythrana bit her lower lip in thought. "If we take you to Gracklstugh, you'll end up as slaves," she said quietly. "We need a different plan."

Thangardt shrugged a little bit, as if to communicate that it was simply the nature of the duergar. As a drow, Lythrana knew she had no moral high ground in that particular debate.

"You saved us," one of the ogres rumbled out. "We owe you."

"The skum can have the lake now," Sindyrrith suggested reasonably. "None of the rest of you have a home?"

"No," the shaman said, shaking his bestial head. "No home, no longer. Broken, burned. Gone."

Malagos leaned down to talk to Lythrana. "It's up to you," he murmured to her. "You're in charge here. But I'm just saying, a small army could be very, very handy. Particularly if your family doesn't know."

Lythrana's eyes looked thoughtful. "I have a place," she said after a long moment of deliberation. "I can take you there. There's an abandoned settlement to the east of Menzoberranzan. Deu'ra, a mindflayer once made its home there, but it is dead and gone. There's everything you would need to build a home—and I can help. And maybe someday, when we need help, you can pay us back."

The quaggoth shaman and the ogre chieftain looked at each other and then nodded. "This is a good plan, Lythrana of Barrison Del'Armgo," the ogre said. He was the more eloquent than the quaggoth. "We will never forget what your Thraele has done for us."

"I'm sure she'll be grateful to hear that when she wakes up," Lythrana said, smiling at their new allies. The more she thought about it, the more a plan started to take shape.


	13. The Thought of Power

As Lythrana had promised, Thraele did wake up within a day, though she certainly felt worse for the wear. Nek's tirade was a long and impressive one. Granted, Thraele failed to look appropriately chastised at the end of it, but she did promise not to do it again. Thangardt returned to Gracklstugh with the duergar patrols, at least those who had survived, to inform Durna that their obligation had been fulfilled.

"Well, that was a diverting few weeks," Sindyrrith said once they arrived at the abandoned settlement with their small army of assorted Underdark creatures. Lythrana had negotiated the purchase of the miners from Thangardt, at a very reasonable price, likely due to how much he owed their group. The agent looked over at their allies. She'd gotten to know at least a few of them over the walk. The ogre chieftain, Arok, had been fairly talkative. He seemed hopeful, almost something approaching cheerful as they neared their new home, and treated the group—Thraele in particular—with something approaching reverence. Trorag, the quaggoth shaman, was far less articulate but seemed to share the sentiment. "Welcome home, big guys."

The cavern was an expansive one and filled with a mushroom forest. They were just south of Deu'ra's tower, a brooding structure that loomed over the road. It would make an excellent fortress in times of trouble. The settlement itself was showing its wear, most of the buildings falling apart, but the foundations were well built. Half-wild rothé roamed the cavern, grazing on the cave moss that coated the floor, and a river abundant with fish flowed through the center of the settlement. It was a perfect area, but the mindflayer had kept anyone from taking advantage of that. "There's a mine down that way maybe a quarter of a mile," Lythrana said, indicating its location on the map that she spread out on the cavern floor. Arok crouched down, peering at the drow lettering. He couldn't read it, but the landmarks were helpful.

"What kind of ore?" one of their svirfneblin asked. It would be the first time he'd ever mined as a free creature, but he was looking forward to it. He'd been a slave, but the first thing Lythrana had made clear after purchasing them was that they were free.

 _You've been shackled enough,_ she'd said. _If you want to help us, come. If not, do what you please._

Not a single one of them had walked away.

"I did a survey of the area a few decades ago," Lythrana said, looking up from the map she was crouched down beside. "Iron, but there's at least one vein of mithril mixed in. I'll send down some more experienced craftsmen that can help teach you how to smelt it and work it. It might not be drow quality, at least for a few decades, but it will be far better than what you have currently. With weapons like that and the skills you have already, you should be able to defend yourselves even from drow raiders. We also passed a granite deposit. If anyone is a stonemason, that stone could be used to build walls. Arok, Trorag, this place belongs to you and yours as far as I'm concerned."

"Ours is yours," Trorag grunted. They had about sixty people in total, forty former slaves and twenty warriors between the quaggoths and the ogres. "Will take time to build. You be well? Need us to fight?"

"Hopefully not for a while, Trorag," Thraele said. She'd been smiling since they arrived. There was something strangely satisfying about creating something, particularly for people who had been through as much as she had. She could see it in the faces of her companions too—even Nek looked pleased, though he was being his usual grumbly self about it. "Take a few years to find your feet. Make something to be proud of. We have the time right now."

"We will," Arok rumbled firmly. His ogres would be invaluable in rebuilding the settlement quickly with their brawn. The ogre chieftain bowed his head to the small group. "It is time to start working. Will you stay?"

"We've been away from Menzoberranzan a long time," Lythrana said reluctantly. She honestly wanted to stay and help, but she knew she had projects waiting for her…including the one to claim more power for herself. It was a jarring thought, one she wanted to escape from into work like this, but that wasn't really an option. Besides, much like the forge, it would be better if she took a relatively hands-off approach and trusted that Arok and Trorag knew what they were doing. "We should return as soon as possible. I'll have supplies sent in as discreetly as I can once we arrive home, to help you all. I know a lot of the miners brought their tools with them, but that won't be enough to build a forge or a smelter."

Sindyrrith pulled a smooth, egg-shaped piece of obsidian inlaid with copper in arcane patterns out of her bag. "Here, Trorag," the agent said. He was a shaman, so using a magical item would be slightly easier for him than Arok. "It's a sending stone. You can get a message of twenty-five words or fewer to us if you need anything. Bregan D'aerthe uses them sometimes for coordinating ambushes, so I have a few to spare."

The quaggoth took it and nodded his shaggy, bear-like head. "Not forget," Trorag said again. "Be well."

"We'd better hit the road," Nek said, adjusting how his crossbow was slung across his back. "Menzoberranzan is waiting."

After a few more farewells, the small group headed carefully back towards the City of Spiders, taking a few side passages to conceal where they'd come from. It wasn't a well-traveled route anymore, however, so they felt fairly safe from prying eyes. Malagos and Nek set up camp while Lythrana prayed and Sindyrrith pulled Thraele aside, ostensibly to go scouting. The agent waited until they were well away from camp to turn to the former thrall.

"You never told me why you wanted Lythrana to be Matron," Sindyrrith said quietly, glancing over at her companion. "For her safety, yes, but why else?" She knew when someone wasn't telling her everything.

Thraele was quiet, considering her options. The full truth would probably not win her points with the agent. "We wish for answers," she said finally. "This is how we get them. Besides, better Lythrana than her sisters, yes?"

"Lloth might argue otherwise," the agent said. "A House's reach seldom extends beyond their city and the surrounding areas, Thraele. You're not from Menzoberranzan. Lythrana won't be able to help you."

"She will have spies and contacts," Thraele said. "Now she has allies in Gracklstugh. If she is to become Matron, she will have to make many more."

Sindyrrith stopped now that they were well away from camp. She studied Thraele's face intently for a long moment. "Thraele, if you put Lythrana in power, she's going to need someone to advise her. She's a lot of things, but a machinating bitch is not one of them and that's virtually part of the job description. Menzoberranzan could eat her alive. If you leave her, there is no guarantee that she will remain Matron Mother. You could cause the collapse of a whole House if you abandon her. Is that a consequence you're willing to accept?"

"Lythrana will have other advisors," Thraele said. "Generals and wizards, spies and schemers."

"And who can she trust other than you?" Sindyrrith asked. The shadowdancer crossed her arms and leaned back against the cavern wall. "Thraele, you have a new life. A new home. Don't throw that away for the past."

"It won't let us go!" the former thrall snapped, something between angry and anguished. The visions and whispers had gotten worse over the course of their journey. The aboleth had worn her down enough to allow these fragmented memories to make themselves known. "Our head is full of voices, expectations, suggestions of what could have been. All we want is to be who we were supposed to be!"

—"… _if I don't come back, I need you to let go of me…it may hurt for a while, but these things heal…you'll be better than I ever was. Don't cry…"—_

Thraele felt her eyes sting with tears. She hadn't cried since she was freed from Deu'ra. This was different. It was pain, not relief—that memory _hurt_. "We are tired of losing things," she said more quietly. "A home, a past, a self. Nothing will ease this, but knowing has to be better than drowning in uncertainty. You would be a better guide to Lythrana than we could ever be."

Sindyrrith hesitated. She wanted to keep pushing, but she had a feeling it would just end with Thraele giving her the cold shoulder. "I need you to think about this, Thraele," she said after a moment's pause. It needed to be said. "What you—we, now, I suppose—are doing isn't going to be a cut and dried affair, even excluding the battle with Mez'Barris and her sisters. It's diving deep into Menzoberranzan's power. If you leave, someone will either depose Lythrana or, and this might actually be worse, fill the void themselves to shape her into whatever they desire. I don't want to see a House collapse, I don't want to you to make a monster, and I don't want you to do something you're going to regret later."

"What would you suggest?" Thraele asked. "That we wait for Lythrana to be killed? That we stay and be her right hand forever?" She liked Lythrana, but something about that idea grated on her. She was always looking out for her friends, but some part of her would always crave power. She could feel it now, awake and inside of her: ambition of the selfish kind. Even if it was just out of spite towards the people that had abandoned her to her death, she wanted to control.

"Thraele, trust me, you wouldn't be Lythrana's pet," Sindyrrith pointed out. "If anything, you'd be the power behind the throne."

"We were meant to be a Matron Mother," the former thrall said. "We were born to be noble. We suffered and bled and hid our tears behind closed doors in the name of that goal."

"A price you barely remember paying." The agent could see some internal war ravaging the mind of the younger drowess like a maelstrom hitting an unsheltered coast.

"We still paid it," Thraele said. Her lips pressed into that thin, stubborn line. It was an expression she could remember seeing on her mother's face many times. "We _earned_ nobility. We _deserved_ it. We didn't die."

Sindyrrith sighed. "Well, in the days to come, you're going to have to decide what matters to you most. And if power is the answer…I can't stop you."

* * *

Myrineyl sighed as she set her wine aside. Her conferences with Ilmrae frequently made her wonder if she was honestly the one who had to do all the thinking for the pair of them. Still, that was useful in and of itself even if it occasionally frustrated her. When Ilmrae was Matron Mother of House Barrison Del'Armgo, Myrineyl would be in that much better of a position to take her own mother's place. It also meant a second house that would be far less inclined to challenge House Baenre than its current incarnation under the control of Mez'Barris. "Have you tried corrupting the bodyguard rather than presenting her with things to beat on?" she said patiently.

Their conversation had started precisely because Lythrana and her bodyguard had arrived—unfortunately alive—back in Menzoberranzan after well over a month of being away. The Matron hadn't bothered to be livid, since it had least kept Lythrana from fooling around in her forge. What unsettled Mez'Barris, however, was that no one knew exactly what Lythrana had been _doing_ outside of Menzoberranzan. Ilmrae suspected it was another of her sister's idiotic projects. K'yorl hadn't said anything, but the wizard was notoriously useless when it came to keeping track of his artifice-obsessed sibling.

"Through intermediaries. No amount of gold is going to sway that woman," Ilmrae said with a clear irritation, lovely features twisted with displeasure. She could be as impetuous in her ragings as her mother, but honestly, she wasn't that angry. She was frustrated, yes, because she wasn't a woman used to being thwarted—particularly when it came to Lythrana. She'd orchestrated humiliation for her younger sister hundreds of times over the years just for the joy of it. Suddenly being unable to do so due to some rogue agent was so disconcerting she didn't even know how to be angry with it. "And I know nothing about her to find some other lever, some other chink in her armor. She has no family to work through, no enemies that I know of other than Lythrana's, no vices that I can find, and her friends in the city are so closely cuddled up to Bregan D'aerthe that it'd be suicide to threaten them and stupid to try to buy them."

"So offer her power," Myrineyl said, watching her ally closely. "And not like Dresmorlin did. He's a fool, though sometimes a useful fool. If you can't use gold, use favors. Everyone wants something. Even a bodyguard. The expense will be worth it, I promise you."

"One woman—"

"A woman who has taken out every threat that even _neared_ Lythrana, often without her mistress even knowing there was a threat in the first place. A bodyguard who stepped in the way of a furious Matron without a second thought. A warrior with friends in the Yath'Abban. A partner of Sindyrrith Tuin, who is infamous for being the most slippery woman in Menzoberranzan aside from the Revered Daughter. If anyone could help you take power in your house, Ilmrae, it would be someone like that," the scion of House Baenre said before finishing her glass of lichen wine and setting the glass aside. She rose to her feet. "Go seek her out now. While you're busy with that, I will be obtaining for you something I have found most valuable in dealing with my own rivals."

Ilmrae raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"A poison," Myrineyl said before opening the door to let herself out. The powerful wards of silence flickered for a moment. "With very few equals." The older, more powerful priestess had more spies in the city than Ilmrae by far. She was well aware that a rumor had started spreading, at least among the non-drow in the city, that an aboleth was dead because of Lythrana Armgo and her allies.

Her meeting with her ally finished, Ilmrae took a deep breath before downing the rest of her wine. She would need to draw on all her powers of persuasion for this to work. This Thraele was not a woman easily won, or at least would not come with a low price. All the same, the priestess set off down the halls to Lythrana's study. She knew that at this hour, her sister would be sound asleep. Thraele, however, seemed to work late as much as Ilmrae did, if not more so. The priestess knocked softly on the door before letting herself in, announcing her presence so she would not be mistaken for an intruder.

There was Thraele, sitting at Lythrana's desk with several books and journals open, studiously writing. The former thrall had mastered the artificer's handwriting and now she had moved on to finishing the next letter half based on what Lythrana had confided in her and half based on the book of poems she had read. It was strange, to be composing sentences that were almost verse, but it felt natural enough. A growing sense of unease was beginning to form in the pit of her stomach, however, as she catalogued Lythrana's feelings. They were…familiar. She looked up at the sound of the knock, forcing herself not to react with even narrowed eyes at the sight of Ilmrae.

People were going to have to die for Lythrana to become Matron Mother. That very much included Ilmrae. Still, if what she was learning from Sindyrrith was true, the best knife was the unexpected one. "Your sister is asleep, Revered Ilmrae," she said instead, lowering her gaze respectfully. "Might we suggest you come back at another time?"

"Actually, I was hoping to speak to you," Ilmrae said, sitting down in the armchair adjacent to the desk. She couldn't see what the guard was working on—Thraele had deftly closed the main journal with her sheets of handwritten copy tucked inside. "Thraele, I know Lythrana pays you well. She treats you well. However, she will not be around forever. Already Tathlyn, Drada, and Jhulae have their designs on the Matron's throne. They will kill her."

"And you also have designs," Thraele said mildly, looking up at Ilmrae. Her amaranthine eyes looked more purple than red in the light, though a deeper shade, like amethyst.

"Of course," Ilmrae said. "I would be a fool not to. The difference is that I can win. I have allies in powerful places, which is more than the others can say. Thraele, you have everything to gain by aiding me. My allies would become your allies. You could obtain what few other houseless renegades have ever attained: favor in the eyes of a Matron Mother. Besides, I would unquestionably owe you a debt. Everyone wants something, Thraele. I can give you what you want."

 _Spycraft is just misdirection. Smoke and mirrors,_ she heard Nek whisper in her mind.

Thraele chose her next words very carefully. Her answer would have to be the most drow-like thing she could possibly think of. "The favor of a Matron?" she said softly. "We do have something we want."

Ilmrae kept her eagerness well hidden. "And what is that?" she said. "Presuming, of course, that you're willing to tell me."

Thraele leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. "We would be noble." If it wasn't a high price, it would sound suspicious.

The priestess's eyebrows shot up in surprise that she couldn't quite conceal quickly enough, her mask slipping. She recovered after a split second, however. "Tired of being houseless, I take it?" Ilmrae said with a little quirk of a smile. That would be a very difficult line to walk, not generating a rival, but not impossible if she had the resources of a whole House, at least as far as she was concerned.

"It is the price of our assistance," Thraele said calmly. "Take it or leave it."

"Very well," Ilmrae said, her gaze measuring. "The House will have some vacancies by the time I'm done." She had no intention of actually honoring that promise. The moment Thraele was no longer useful, Ilmrae would use Myrineyl to nip that problem in the bud.

"Lythrana should not be the first target we pursue. As you have said, Tathlyn and Drada have their designs on the throne. They are much more dangerous rivals."

"True," Ilmrae said. She was pleased by the idea that she would have Thraele's assistance with them. "I should have an answer for Drada soon. She is…careless, in who she trusts. Her consort has agreed to be of assistance. Tathlyn will be far more challenging. She spends most of her time out on the battlefields and unfortunately, nature hasn't run its course there yet."

The irony of the comment about Drada was not lost on Thraele, who barely kept the dry smile off her lips. "A knife in the dark may suffice for Tathlyn," Thraele said. "We may be able to insinuate ourselves into her good graces. Give us time to contemplate and speak to no one of our consent to this endeavor."

"Of course," Ilmrae said with a smile, rising again to her feet. "Good night, Thraele."

"And you, Revered Ilmrae," Thraele said by way of goodbye, watching the priestess let herself out. Once the door was closed, she sucked in a deep breath. _What in all nine hells are we doing?_ she asked herself. The answer to that was simple: exactly what she'd agreed she would. It would be a delicate balancing act, pretending to act as Ilmrae's agent while serving Lythrana still. She moved over to sit in the chair that Ilmrae had vacated and opened up her book of poems again, reading for inspiration. She felt like she was groping in the dark for words. She was becoming less and less sure who she was writing this letter for the longer she thought about it. Lythrana? Yvonnel? Nalfein? Herself?

Who was she doing any of this for? Thraele couldn't say.

A few minutes later, Lythrana came padding out of her bedroom, looking mostly asleep still. Without saying anything to Thraele, she fumbled for a nib pen and started scratching out words on a blank sheet of parchment. It went without saying that it would probably be undecipherable when she was fully awake, but Lythrana insisted that some of her best ideas came when she was sleeping. There was no evidence of distrust or animosity, so Thraele very much doubted that her conversation with Ilmrae had been overheard. She wasn't certain if she should tell Lythrana or not. Whichever she chose, the time was probably not now.

Once Lythrana tired herself out writing, Thraele went over and scooped up the unconscious woman, returning her to bed. It was as much self-preservation as friendship, considering how unhappy and passive-aggressive Lythrana was when she woke up with a kink in her neck or her back. The last thing Thraele wanted was to be sniped at.

The former thrall moved over to the couch and laid down, not terribly worried about an attack at this hour. Lythrana had heavily warded her bedroom so that only someone with a key could pass in and out. She was still alive, so there was something to be said for it being a worthwhile investment.

Sindyrrith's words played around her head for a long time as she struggled to relax. Eventually, she gave up on trying to sleep and moved out into the hall. Her feet took her to the chapel inside the stronghold with no input from her mind. There behind the altar, cleaned of stone deposits, was the black opal statuette that they'd recovered, closed behind enchanted glass. It was so ancient that it had to have been magical, but there was only a faint trace of power to it, much like Lythrana's bracelet. Even if it didn't have magical power, however, it still had a great deal of symbolic power as a relic. Thraele approached it and reached out, placing her hand on the glass. Ever since she'd spilled her blood onto the statue, she felt a strange connection to it.

 **You could still be Matron Mother** _,_ something whispered softly in her ear. **She would never suspect you…**

Could she do that? Plunge a dagger into Lythrana's back the moment she'd done the same to Ilmrae? Did she want to? Or was it enough to just play queen-maker and step back? Her loyalty and her ambition were very much at war, both given breath by the memories of her past creeping in.

She honestly wasn't certain which would win, but part of her was terrified of finding out.


	14. The Ruins

Nalfein leaned against the railing, looking down over Menzoberranzan from one of the spires of Sorcere, a complex of stalagmite towers sculpted into beauty. He'd enjoyed his time at the Academies, but particularly Sorcere—not because he was magically inclined, but because it had been so far from the world he'd started in. It was full of sculptures, paintings, and strange runes inlaid in gold into the walls. But above all were the books, amazing wonders that he had never even known about before the Yath'Abban found him. It had been a struggle for him to learn to read before coming to the Academies, but once he could, libraries had become a place of refuge for him. Besides, here he didn't have to worry too much about prying eyes. He just took off his armor and sash, left his sword behind, and sauntered in. Where other people would have worried about being unarmed, a mage and a psion were both fine.

A female voice jogged him out of his thoughts: "You look pleased with yourself."

Nalfein spun around and grinned. "Thraele! What are you doing here?" he said, happy to see her. They hadn't talked since she returned to Menzoberranzan some weeks ago. She'd sent him a brief missive saying that they were back and safe, but nothing else. He doubted she was avoiding him, considering how insanely busy Lythrana had been since their return—though she had managed to drop Lythrana's letters in his room every now and again. Mez'Barris had apparently decided that the way to cure her fourth daughter of an incessant need to invent things was by exhausting her with innumerable, tedious tasks.

"Research," Thraele said with amusement, appearing very much back to her old self. She held out an envelope. Lythrana had sent her out to borrow a few alchemical tomes, a luxury that she had only by virtue of the fact that one of her brothers was a Master of Sorcere. K'yorl was her co-conspirator in many of her explorations into magic, so he'd gifted his favorite sister that privilege. The other priestesses in his family, except for perhaps Mez'Barris, would not have had such an easy time of it. Then again, Lythrana could always be relied upon to return the books in good condition, sometimes even in better condition than she'd received them.

Nalfein's grin widened as he took it. "You're my favorite person, you know that?" he said, feeling his heart start to beat a little faster. It was foolish, but letters from Lythrana had become his favorite reading material. Responding to them was slowly growing easier and easier. It didn't make him nervous any more, but receiving one always made his pulse pick up.

"Lythrana would be devastated to hear such a thing," Thraele said. She wasn't serious—Lythrana already knew they were friends and she wasn't too jealous. Perhaps she was a little envious that Thraele got to spend time with him, but at least so far possessive anger hadn't reared its ugly head. The 'books' under the former thrall's arm were slender volumes comprised of individual sheets of vellum notes, collected in basically a leather folder. Well, except for the middle one, but that hadn't come from Sorcere. Alassëa had found her another volume of drow poetry, again Eilistraeean in nature. The verses spoke to some younger part of herself, the bit that wasn't concerned with nobles and violence and power, the part of her that had been fascinated by her mother's songs. The memories that she had from the early years of her life were fainter, but far more comforting, than the rest—and one of those was that her mother would sing to soothe her.

"Thank you for the letter," Nalfein said, looking up from the envelope. He wanted to open it there and then, but it would probably have been rude to ignore his friend.

"Do you still have a patrol tomorrow on the north side route to Gracklstugh?" Thraele asked. It was hard not to study his reaction. Nalfein had never said whether he liked the letters or not, but his blue eyes lit up and he smiled whenever she gave him one. It made her wonder what would happen if he ever knew the truth of who was writing them. As much as she was curious, however, she had every intention of making sure that didn't happen. Between her loyalty to Lythrana—however much it grated on her sometimes—and her deal with Yvonnel, there wasn't room for any personal feelings on the matter. Her memories of the Matron and the woman who had given birth to her told her that she should be willing to sacrifice anything for power, her own emotions included.

"Yes. Why?" Nalfein said. He was puzzled that Thraele even knew about his schedule, but then again, if she'd been in his quarters, the roster was right on the table.

Thraele hesitated, debating whether or not it would be better to spring it on him now or out on that road. _Out on the road,_ her instincts told her. _He won't be able to just run._ If she'd thought he would have given it due consideration, she would have told him. Still, she didn't want to lie completely. "We will be out in the area," Thraele said, neatly excluding the fact that 'we' included Lythrana. This would be a chance for them to meet away from Yvonnel's prying eyes, not that she expected the Revered Daughter would actually make a fuss. "It would be good to talk."

"You could just come with the patrol," Nalfein offered. "Another skilled sword would be welcome."

The former thrall shook her head. "No," she said softly. "We will be departing before your patrol leaves and lingering in the area near the ruins of Ithilaughym."

Nalfein raised an eyebrow. "What on earth are you doing there?"

"Lythrana has unearthed evidence of an ancient drow artifact of some nature that was once contained there. We are going to retrieve the relics involved. We have reason to believe that they were not removed—the books point to a hidden vault accessible only to a select few who possess the kind of key that very, very few priestesses would be willing to stoop to. It is alchemical in nature," Thraele said. She smiled faintly in something approaching amusement. "Fortunately, Lythrana is adept at such formulations and her academic curiosity is boundless."

"If you need help, I could probably pitch in. We're supposed to camp in the area for a time, as a base of operations to scout duergar defenses," Nalfein offered. "That would allow me some time to delve into the ruins with you."

"Appreciated, truly," Thraele said, pleasantly surprised by the offer. She'd never had an opportunity to fight alongside Nalfein out on a true battlefield. She found herself looking forward to it. "We would welcome the assistance." She had a feeling that if everything went well, Lythrana would have no objections to him coming along.

Nalfein smiled. "Then I'll see you then. Take care, Thraele. I should return to the Yath'Abban," he said. He paused for a moment before adding with warmth, "Thank you for the letters." Then he left, padding through the halls of Sorcere towards the street.

He left Thraele feeling conflicted, an emotion she was growing increasingly used to—much to her displeasure. She supposed she should have been happier that he was taking to the letters. That was part of the plan, after all. However, selfishness was very much a drow vice and Thraele was very much a drow still, despite everything that Deu'ra had done to her. She shoved it out of her thoughts before she could start to think too long and hard about it. There was a plan; she was best off just sticking to it. She left Sorcere, feet leading her back to House Barrison Del'Armgo without any input from her mind needed.

Lythrana was waiting for her out in the forges, a place where they reliably wouldn't be overheard by one of her sisters, at least while there was work going on. The acrid smell of hot metal and smoke, ringing of hammers, and general dirt tended to keep priestesses away. They moved to the quieter section that served as Lythrana's workshop. It was unoccupied at the moment, as the duergar and other drow who worked at crafts were slaving away at the forges themselves. "What did he say?" she asked anxiously the moment she and Thraele were alone. The words came stumbling out, running into each other as they tripped from her lips.

"He volunteered his assistance in our task. We did not tell him that you would be present," Thraele said.

"Is that wise?" Lythrana said, fighting the urge to fidget. Thankfully, she had plenty of training in suppressing that urge thanks to a childhood with her sisters and the Matron, who took a dim view of disquiet in children.

"We will find out," Thraele said with a shrug. "But considering how he has taken to the letters, we doubt you have anything to worry about."

"Other than my own fool mouth," Lythrana muttered. She sighed. "Let's hope I can actually talk to him without freezing."

Thraele smiled at her friend. "You will be fine," she said reassuringly. Lythrana had been reading and approving every letter, so it wasn't as though she was ignorant of the depth of what Thraele had been writing to Nalfein on her behalf. "Don't worry about what he will think. He already knows how you feel. If you can take on a raging Malagos, you are more than equipped with the nerves to handle this. We promise, if he was going to use this to hurt you, we would know."

"I wish I had your talent with words," Lythrana admitted. She would have liked to trust herself enough to write to Nalfein, but no inspiration came. Thraele made it seem effortless, though that might have been because the former thrall worked on the letters in the late hours near Narbondel's death when Lythrana was asleep and so the noble never saw her agonize over every word. "I feel useless beyond the forge. I don't think I can do this, Thraele. Any of it: Matron or Nalfein."

"You did very well with Durna," Thraele said, leaning against one of the work tables as Lythrana took a seat. "With Arok and Trorag. You have it in you to lead. It is doubt that shackles you."

"Thraele, I don't want to be Matron," the priestess said. Her friend was the one person she could be honest with on that front. Anyone else would have laughed her out of the city. Of course a priestess should want to be Matron. That wasn't even a question. "I'm not a model priestess. I'm an artificer who happens to have divine training. And if a Matron is weak…look at Do'Urden and see how well that worked out for them. Baenre would tear me apart."

"Everyone has their own reasons for seeking power," Thraele said. "Many times it is selfish, but not always. Have you thought about the House? Do you think it would fare well with Tathlyn in charge, volatile and wrathful? With Drada's self-serving avarice? Or perhaps Ilmrae, slave to her own ambition?"

Lythrana was quiet, considering that for a long moment. "I don't know how to lead."

"So learn," Thraele said. "Leadership is not something you either have or you don't. It is a skill, and you only improve through training and practice. The Matron taught us that."

"The Matron?" Lythrana queried, raising her eyebrow. Thraele never really spoke about her past, but now that the noble knew about the mindflayer, she could imagine why.

"Things are…returning. We are beginning to remember our old life. We were not always houseless," the former thrall said. Thoughts of her fragmented past made her restless. "We recall suffering greatly at the hands of our aunts. We recall the training given by a Matron Mother. It is the names that escape us—our name, their names. We recall cities, drow and not drow. We recall pain, bitterness, pride, accomplishment. We recall friends and enemies, victories and defeats. A life before this life."

"A better life?"

Thraele shrugged. "We cannot say. Different, certainly. We were very different then. Cruel, cold, proud, vain, ambitious. Perhaps we still are, under the surface," she said thoughtfully. She shrugged. "Does it matter? As Nek says, we cannot return to that life, for we are no longer the same person. Deu'ra changed us."

Lythrana gave her friend a half-smile. "I can't say I understand, but for what it's worth, I'm glad you came to Menzoberranzan. I've never had anyone look out for me the way you do. I hope you decide to stay, when all of this is over."

"We cannot say," Thraele said. "Part of us would very much like to remain. Part of us is…dissatisfied with not knowing. But perhaps the memories will return on their own, here in Menzoberranzan."

The artificer nodded. "As long as I'm alive, you're most certainly welcome in the City of Spiders," Lythrana said softly. "But don't let it become a prison. You deserve better than that."

* * *

The tunnels were quiet, which was probably the most disquieting thing about the trip. It certainly worried Thraele far more than the ruins of the drow city that they were camped in. She actually felt better seeing the webs of ettercaps and giant spiders, as well as the holes of goblins or various other small creatures that now made their homes in the ruins, all of which gave them a wide berth. Even the spiders—perhaps due to some ancestral memory of domestication—knew to leave drow alone. Sindyrrith and Malagos hadn't joined them, but Nek had volunteered to come and both of the drow were grateful for his skill at navigating and surviving in the wilds of the Underdark. Now they were sheltered in the ruins of the city's most powerful House, remnants of its fortress still standing long after the city's destruction. The only entrance to the vault they were seeking was a narrow staircase—the main route down into the lower levels had collapsed and there was far too much stone to excavate without teams and teams of diggers.

Below them, down the stairs, ancient wards still remained as powerful as ever and hummed faintly with life. They hadn't been disturbed for more than a millennium, well-hidden from the eyes of Menzoberranzan's priestesses—or at least from those who weren't such astute students of hidden historical knowledge.

"Looks ominous," Nek said as he counted his bolts. His _quiver of plenty_ was a new acquisition, but its ability to duplicate his enchanted bolts to form a limitless supply made it an extremely valuable piece of equipment. Thraele was sitting on one of the remnants of wall, kicking her feet almost absentmindedly as she considered what threats might be waiting for them below. Lythrana had lost herself deep in prayer off to the side, making certain she had her spells prepared. "You sure we should wait for this Nalfein guy? I say the sooner we're through with this, the better."

"We are certain," Thraele said calmly. "His patrol should be arriving soon. The patrols of the Yath'Abban move like clockwork, always on time."

"Something just triggered one of the alarm spells on the entrance tunnels. I expect it's them," Lythrana said, rising to her feet. She had been praying, but she felt the disruption in her thoughts. "Hopefully it didn't raise their guard too much. I would hate to be attacked."

"Best that you and Nek stay here, just in case," the former thrall said, standing up. "We will return soon, hopefully with Nalfein."

Lythrana nodded, concealing her nerves as best she could. Already thoughts of everything that could go wrong were starting to make themselves known. She did her best to crush them before they could take root. _Nothing to worry about. He's read the letters,_ Lythrana told herself. She was just used to things not going according to plan. Her sisters were excellent saboteurs and had cost her allies and potential romances in the past. They didn't know about this one, at least as far as Lythrana was aware, but there was still the expectation that something would go awry. "Be safe, Thraele."

Thraele flashed her friends a quick smile before vanishing into the shadows. She made her way quickly towards the patrol, though it still took her quite a while to traverse the city with its fallen buildings, negotiating a path through monstrous webs and their creators who would be far more willing to take on a lone drow than their small group. She spotted a small, dim, enchanted fire from a distance and made her way cautiously towards them. She was well aware that it could be an ambush, particularly if the patrol had realized they'd tripped Lythrana's alarm spell. The defenses they had set up were concealed, but even with precautions, they could have alerted the larger group.

However, that looked not to be the case. She spotted Nalfein and Nendra immediately, along with a face she hadn't been expecting to see: Dresmorlin. Thraele frowned. The Patron of House Barrison Del'Armgo should have been nowhere near the wilderness. His presence meant it was possible that Mez'Barris had been tipped off to Lythrana's location and perhaps even her goal.

"I'm going to go scout," Nalfein said to his fellow inquisitor. "Don't wait on me. This place is massive—it'll take a fair while."

"Do try not to get eaten," his partner said with amusement.

"I could assist," Dresmorlin offered solicitously. "It would be better for you not to go alone, Inquisitor Zaphresz. Thraele frowned at that. The Patron clearly knew that something was going on. She could only hope that his offer would be shot down.

Fortunately, Nendra glared at the male wizard. "I have strict orders to keep you from harm, Patron. That is precisely what I intend to do," she said, her tone speaking volumes about how pleased she was to have to chaperone the wizard. "An inquisitor is more than qualified to handle the darkness alone. Nalfein, you have twenty four hours. After that, we will come looking for you."

"Understood," Nalfein said, giving his partner a bow.

Thraele waited until he was a good distance from camp to approach him. "Nalfein," she greeted.

He jumped a little bit despite himself, then smiled. "Thraele, good to see you're alive. You almost gave me a heart attack."

"We may yet," Thraele said. "Camp is this way."

"Very cryptic," Nalfein said with a chuckle, following his friend through the ruins towards where she'd left Nek and Lythrana.

Once they were near camp, Thraele whistled loudly to let them know she was on the approach with Nalfein, the sound breaking the relative quiet. She heard Nek's voice drifting on the cavern breezes towards them, though he quieted when he heard the whistle. "Welcome back," Nek said with a grin as Thraele rounded the bend with the inquisitor. "Here I thought we were going to have to send out a search party to cut you loose from some spider's web."

"The spider would have found us unappetizing, we imagine," Thraele said with a laugh. "It is difficult to eat with a sword through the body."

"Here I thought you people loved spiders," Nek said.

"We do not love being inside of one," the former thrall said. She heard a sharp intake of breath from Nalfein as Lythrana rounded the corner from the small sheltered area where she'd been finishing her prayers.

"Revered Lythrana," Nalfein greeted with a slightly stiff bow. Thraele could see an anxiety that was a mirror of Lythrana's own in the male drow's face. "I didn't realize you would be here."

"Otherwise he'd have buffed his armor," Nek commented with amusement. He would have thrown out a comment about being besotted, but Thraele was glaring at him warningly.

"Inquisitor Zaphresz, it's…good to see you," Lythrana said. There was warmth to her tone, which gave Thraele hope for the coming conversation. "I hope your journey was uneventful."

Nalfein relaxed slightly at the tone. It was different than any priestess he'd encountered, but it reminded him of the letters, which in turn reminded him that he did know her and didn't have to panic. "Depends on your definition of uneventful," Nalfein said with a wry smile. "Please do not take offense when I say this, but Thraele failed to mention you would be with her."

"Hopefully the disappointment isn't crippling," the noble said with a small smile, finding her courage somewhere deep inside. Thraele was right: she could do this. It just might be awkward at first.

Nalfein looked flustered by the comment. "Not at all," he said quickly. "I mean, I'm not disappointed."

Thraele cleared her throat. "We will begin scouting the passage," she said calmly. "Nek will assist, if you two can be trusted to plan our way forward."

"Way ahead of you, girly," Nek said, looking undeniably amused. "Wouldn't want to be a fifth wheel. Try to keep things upright, you two. Not that it'll necessarily keep you out of trouble." He sauntered down the stairs, chuckling as he went.

Lythrana glared after him. "Thraele, your gnome is a horrible little creature."

Thraele grinned. "We know," she said before heading down the steps after her short friend.

He was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. "Glad to see you're being a good sport about it, Thraele," Nek said as he loaded his crossbow.

She raised an eyebrow at him before drawing her blade. "We are a 'good sport' about what?" she said.

"Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum fumbling towards romance," Nek elaborated. "You want to talk about it?"

"Don't let either of them hear those nicknames," Thraele warned before taking a deep breath. Did she want to confide in anyone? Perhaps. Did she want that person to be Nek? She couldn't think of anyone who understood her better. "And no, we do not."

"The look you're giving me says otherwise," Nek said. "Come on. We can walk and talk…once we're far enough away that shit doesn't echo."

They made it around a few corners before Nek looked at her expectantly. Thraele sighed. "We are happy for them," she said dismissively. "We have been working towards it for months now. It is just…"

"Just that you'd like him to look at you that way?" Nek said quietly.

"Yes," Thraele admitted. "But as you have said many times, no longer are we solely drow—not after the change Deu'ra worked upon our mind. That would be a gap difficult to bridge. Besides, our fate is bound to dark things. He will be happier with Lythrana, and it leaves us free to pursue our past."

"Just remember that nothing makes jealousy worse than trying to clamp down on it," Nek advised. "Feel it, then let it go. You'll find someone who can be that for you."

"When did you become an expert on love?" Thraele said.

Nek was quiet for a long moment before speaking. "Used to have a sweetheart, before I was captured. Spent a few years as a slave. Weren't fun years, let me tell you. Still got the mark from the collar," he said, scratching at the scar around his neck. "Anyway, when I got loose, I headed back to Blingdenstone. Found out she'd gotten married to somebody else. Couldn't have her, couldn't fit in, too many memories and too much roughness. I left. Wilds were a lot easier. So yeah, I know a little bit about things not working out."

"We are sorry," Thraele said.

The svirfneblin chuckled wryly. "Don't be, girly. Nobody's fault, except maybe the drow who grabbed me up. Dunno who I would have been if they hadn't, but for all that bad, I'd rather be the me now than a could-have-been."

Thraele nodded. She could understand where he was coming from, even if she didn't feel the same way. "This is why you do not like the drow."

"Most drow," Nek corrected. "You're alright, girly. So's Sin and Lythrana, for all their flaws. Malagos is only half, probably why he's a good sort. But the rest of them can go hang for all I care, 'specially House Baenre."

The drowess looked at him thoughtfully. "They were your captors, we assume."

"Yeah," he said. "Used to be Myrineyl Baenre's favorite pincushion, way back. But that was a long time ago, and I figure she'll get what's coming to her one way or another. Drow always seem to—no offense."

"None taken," Thraele said. She felt a surge of anger through her veins at the idea of Nek being abused, along with the desire to be an instrument of fate delivering unpleasantness to the priestess.

Nek patted her on the lower back, recognizing the expression. It made him smile a little bit, if only because it had been a very long time since someone was angry on his behalf. He hadn't told Malagos or Alassëa about it, otherwise they probably would have been. For some reason, it was easier to talk to Thraele, probably because he could see a little bit of his younger self in the drowess, as strange as that was to think. "You want to take her on, I'll help if I'm still kicking," he said. "But I'd wait until after you've got a Matron at your back to try it."

Thraele recognized the wisdom in his words. "Agreed," she said softly.

They had walked deep enough to feel the tingle of powerful magic across their skin. Nek tensed a little bit even though he wasn't a caster, gripping his crossbow more tightly. "You feel that?" he said.

"We do," she said as they approached a giant adamantite door that was covered in divine and arcane runes. "This is most certainly what we have come for."

The center of the door had no fissure, instead forming a statue of Lloth with cupped hands reaching outwards, waiting for the key to be poured into her hands. Lythrana still had it, so they wouldn't be advancing beyond the door. Still, Thraele couldn't help but study the designs. Nek was studying her. "Well, your old priestess senses tingling?" he asked.

The former thrall nodded. "There is power enough in this place to bring Menzoberranzan to its knees," she said in a hushed, reverent voice. "The priestesses and mages who created this must have been very, very powerful in their day. It is a pity that they turned on each other. Many lost the Goddess's favor and were destroyed by Her wrath."

"What happened to the survivors?" Nek asked curiously.

"Lythrana's notes suggest that they fled far afield, to the other drow cities, and assimilated there," Thraele said quietly. "But that was a very long time ago. If their blood remains, it is diluted a thousand times over."

"Unless they went into the nobility," the svirfneblin said, leaning against the wall. "If they were so powerful, I could see it happening."

"Perhaps," she said by way of agreement, frowning slightly at the door. "Some of these symbols are familiar. We have seen them before, and not long ago."

"Oh?" Nek said.

"On the statue," Thraele said thoughtfully. "This door may be older than the books suggested." She spent another fifteen minutes studying the door before she heard the sound of approaching feet and turned. Lythrana and Nalfein were catching up to them, both the inquisitor and the priestess looking as serious as they could manage when smiles tried to creep into their expression. It was hard to overlook the way they walked close together, hands almost touching. Thraele felt a pang of jealousy. Following Nek's advice was going to be difficult, but she knew it wasn't a bad idea.

"What's the verdict?" Nalfein asked.

"Girly here says it might be older than we think," Nek said as if oblivious to Nalfein's frown at his nickname for their friend. "You got the key?"

"Yes," Lythrana said, going over to study the door as she slipped back into her business mode. It was a few minutes of close inspection before she nodded slightly. "I think Thraele's right. The metallurgy on the door is…primitive compared to what we have now. It's certainly old. It's entirely possible that the creators were the initial inhabitants of Ithilaughym, not those who destroyed it."

"Well, let's pop it open," Nek said a little bit impatiently.

"Should we expect traps?" the inquisitor asked.

"Always," the svirfneblin said as Lythrana poured the alchemical solution into the statue's cupped hands. Instead of spilling through the cracks in the stone, it seemed to absorb into the black, dull stone.

The doors did not, however, open.

"I don't understand," Lythrana said after a minute of silence, pulling out her notebook. "That should have awoken the essence bound to the doors and granted us entry." She started flipping through the pages, frowning. "Something is missing."

 **Welcome, daughter of my daughters,** something whispered in Thraele's ear. **How far you have come…**

"Did you hear that?" Thraele asked, her grip on her sword tightening.

Lythrana, Nalfein, and Nek all looked at her. "Hear what?" Nalfein asked.

"Something _is_ awake," the former thrall said, stepping closer to the door. "We can hear it speaking."

Nek put his crossbow up to his shoulder, ready to fire. "Be real careful, girly. It might be a trap."

 **I can taste the blood that runs through your veins, daughter of my daughters. Touch my hands, that I may know you,** it whispered.

Despite every survival instinct in her body screaming to not trust this voice, Thraele reached out and let her fingertips brush the statue's cupped hands. It felt like she had grabbed onto a white-hot poker as magic flooded into her body. "Thraele!" Nek shouted when her body went rigid.

— _standing in a space as dark as the void between stars, she felt a shiver run through her body. Fingers wound themselves in her hair and lips brushed across her forehead._ _ **We have been waiting so very long,**_ _the presence said._ _ **Our gift waits for you at the center, daughter of my daughters. Prove you are worthy. If you cannot earn it, you do not deserve it. If you do not deserve it, you die**_ _—_

Thraele gasped and dropped to her knees, suddenly released by the spell that had been holding her. There was a grating of stone and then the statue split into halves, swinging inward to admit them into the inner sanctum beyond. She felt hands supporting her: Nalfein and Lythrana had each grabbed one of her arms to stop her from doing a face-plant. She appreciated the gesture.

"Well, it's open," Lythrana said. "Somehow, that doesn't make me feel better. Thraele, are you alright?"

"Fine," the former thrall croaked out, getting up to her feet. She was a little shaky and disoriented, but the familiar words of the spirit automatically prompted her to continue despite the residual pain in her hand. "It…knows us. But whatever is at the center must be earned."

"Do you know the path?" Lythrana asked. "Did it say anything about what we have to do?"

"No," Thraele said with a shake of her head. "Only that there is something there. We assume that obtaining it will be difficult. We should be swift—people will come looking for Nalfein, and it is better that they not find this place without the protections of the wards."

"I guess we ought to get started, then," Nek said as Thraele picked up the sword that she'd dropped. "Right behind you, girly."


	15. The Test

They descended deeper and deeper below the ruins, perfectly intact vaulted arches rising so high overhead that they were lost in utter darkness. The area was shrouded in shadow of a magical nature that was impenetrable even for drow eyes, mitigated only by a small light that Lythrana had conjured so that they could see with their darkvision. The night beneath seemed to swallow the fragile little light, its rays extending only maybe twenty feet in every direction. A chill permeated the air, but all around them were faint traces of magic. Sometimes it was just a tingle across the skin, but as they passed between the statues of ancient drow faces, it became a crackle in their clothes that emanated an actual visible flash of light. Nalfein and Thraele both had their swords drawn. Nek had his crossbow at the ready while Lythrana contemplated which _inflict_ spell she wanted to use. Something powerful.

"I don't understand why we haven't seen any traps," Nalfein said quietly. Out of all of them, he had the most experience as a rogue. In his youth, he had been a deft hand with traps and locks, skills that served him well as an inquisitor. He had been studying the walls they passed and the floor ahead of them intently.

A face appeared out of the darkness just in front of Thraele, shadows materializing into a very familiar figure. A redheaded drowess with eyes like flame and proud, haughty features that resembled Thraele's own glared at her with such ferocity that the former thrall felt an urge to step backwards. Her golden circlet glimmered in the light, marked with the symbols of stylized spiders and their webs, a single fire opal set at the center of her brow. "You thought we would just let you pass?" she demanded, voice so cold the others flinched back. She seized Thraele by the chin in an iron grip, fingernails biting into the former thrall's flesh. "You haven't changed a whit since I first saw you. As weak as ever, as soft. I told you that you would break."

"Matron," Thraele hissed out, pulling her head out of that iron grip. It stung and scored scratches down her chin, but she was free.

"You remember that much, at least," the woman said scornfully. "A daughter of my daughter, broken by a mindflayer. Where was your will, your spirit? Why didn't you fight?"

"We fought," the former thrall ground out. "We broke free. We are stronger than you think."

"Oh yes?" the apparition sneered. "Then why do you rely on these creatures even now? You're afraid of the darkness. Afraid of being alone again. Afraid of what you can feel inside of you, growing like thorns. I made you into better than this little pet you have let yourself become." She gestured at Lythrana. "Do you jump when she commands it? Does she feed you scraps from her table as treats?"

Thraele felt the spell crackle to life before she even realized she was doing it, divine magic coursing through her body as the anger overtook her, burning in her stomach like a hot coal. It was easier to summon up spells here, in the presence of Lloth's power. She snarled and released it, hitting the phantom of her own memory.

The Matron Mother laughed even as she wavered. "We will see, won't we? Tests of dedication, of endurance, await you. We will see if your will is as strong as you think, if you can follow through when all the world is against you."

"That doesn't sound good," Nalfein murmured despite himself, looking worried.

 **They cannot follow you. This test is for you alone, daughter of my daughters,** the voice murmured to her.

Lythrana went to walk over to Thraele, to see if she was alright, only to find she couldn't move over there. "Thraele, something is holding us," the priestess said calmly. She took a step backwards. She couldn't pass the point she had been at—neither could Nalfein or Nek. Thraele seemed to have no problem.

"We will return," Thraele said. She felt a strange sort of relief. She didn't want her companions to see what waited further afield. She had a feeling it would only be closer and closer to home. "It is better this way. The echoes of our past are our test, it seems."

"Watch your back," Nek said. He was frowning deeply at the idea of her going it alone.

"We will," she promised before heading off into the darkness without a light. She didn't want to take it from Lythrana, Nalfein, and Nek. Besides, there was something comforting about not being able to see the faces of her memories, at least for the moment. It was quiet as she walked, fumbling her way down stairs carefully, testing the ground before she walked.

Her vision slowly returned, only to find herself in an octagonal room with a ceiling held up by arches that looked like the limbs of a great spider. There was a statue at the center of the room, much larger but otherwise identical to the statuette she and Lythrana had found. Instead of staying still like stone, its black opal legs unfolded and it began to approach with graceful, almost fluid movements. Thraele stopped just inside the entrance to the room, uncertain of what to think of this animate statue. It leaned down until its large, fanged face was only inches away from her own. **Struggle,** it whispered, lips curving into a smile. **It is more enjoyable.**

Before she could even think, a power like nothing she had ever experienced was crushing her mind. It was incalculably ancient, vast, and dark. Spiders poured out of the walls and surged over her body like a wave, biting her thousands of times over, their venom burning through her body like frozen fire. She dropped to her knees. Each bite awoke a different memory or fear, flashing across her vision too quickly for her to even breathe or register most of them. Others lingered.

— _"I don't want you to go! Stay with me!" she begged. But nothing worked, those hands prying her away from her mother's body. She couldn't do anything but try to fight back the tears as she watched the one person who truly cared about her leave, never to return—_

 _—hands sliding her robe off her shoulders, lips following the column of her neck. Something secret, something stolen, a few moments where she could just be herself instead of struggling to fit into the mold everyone was trying to force her into. No one needed to know. He could be hers, even if it was just for a little while—_

 _—the roar of battle in her ears, overpowering everything else. Her sword tight in her hand, blood surging through her veins with a fire spurred on by the sound of her House's battlecry. She could see dwarves ahead, their ranks breaking as they collided with the army of goblinoids and orcs lead by the drow. She felt the burning, predatory need to chase the moment some tried to run—_

 _—"Please, Thraele, don't do this," Alassëa said, looking up at her through tears, elven features undisguised. She was holding Malagos's body in her arms. "I'm your friend!"_

 _"Do it!" a voice barked. It sounded familiar…Lythrana? "I am your Matron!"_

 _She brought the sword down in a vicious arc, blood spattering across her armor—_

 _—standing behind Deu'ra, sword plunging towards her back. He turned around before she could connect and flung the blade aside with a powerful gesture. Before she could think, that horrible, alien mind was boring into her own, shattering her defenses like they were nothing, returning her to the bleak world of obedience—_

 _—the sound of screams echoed in her ears as she twisted the knife savagely—_

 _—the light bleeding out of dark eyes no matter what she tried to do—_

 _—"Leave him alone! He didn't do anything!" she screamed._

 _"I know that, darling. But how else will you learn?" the woman who had given birth to her said smoothly before bringing a snake-whip across a square-jawed face—_

Thraele gasped for air, realizing she was laying on the floor of the chamber now, her body twisted in pain. She wasn't sure if anything she'd seen was real. She wasn't honestly sure if the agony she was in now was real either. Cruel laughter surrounded her as she tried to pick herself up. A boot hit her side hard enough to knock her back down, cracking ribs. "You've always been weak, bug," the tall, scarred female warrior-priestess said with amusement, lips twisting into a mocking smile. "Now everyone knows it."

She looked up to see figures watching her: Sindyrrith, Lythrana, Nalfein, Nek, Malagos, Alassëa all forming a laughing audience. "Pride always was your downfall, darling," that smooth, polished voice said as soft fingers stroked her hair for a moment before grabbing a handful and yanking hard enough to make her scalp bleed. "You wanted to see it so badly in me. In all of us. But the truth is, there's nothing to be proud of."

Another foot stomped down on her sword-hand, breaking bone. She cried out then, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes. "Does it hurt?" the Matron's voice asked sweetly. "I suppose you'd better get used to it. Life is pain."

She struggled up to her feet, body shuddering under the force of blows. The others were still laughing when she found herself face to face with her mother, the one safe person in her memories. Ruby eyes studied her, unmistakably disappointed. "I taught you better than this," the woman said, voice hard. "I'm ashamed of you. That's why I never came back." She turned on her heel.

Thraele surged forward to wrap her arms around the apparition, only to have her mother vanish in a swirl of shadow before she could even make contact. Thraele covered her eyes with her good hand, fighting back tears of pain.

"I know it bothers you," Lythrana said from behind her. The former thrall whirled around. The priestess had her arms around Nalfein, who was looking at her like she was the center of the universe. "Always coming second, always being below, always struggling and bleeding on my behalf. But that's what slaves do, Thraele, even if they don't realize the collar is there. You'll never be free, no matter how far you run. It doesn't matter if you're Deu'ra's, mine, or someone else's. You'll always be a thrall."

The pain and surge of helpless anger at that statement rendered Thraele inarticulate in rage. She swung her good fist at her friend's visage, only to have that disappear too. "Vith!" she screamed into the empty room. The statue was silent and unmoving at the center of the room, just like when she'd first seen it. It was hard to tell whether or not she was dreaming still. A door on the other side, one that she didn't remember seeing when she walked in, was open. Her whole body was still in agony from the spider-bites. She limped across the room and through the new opening, cradling her broken hand. She followed the long, dark corridor with tears still stinging in her eyes. She could feel her broken ribs with every breath in and out.

— _"I'm ashamed of you."—_

 _—"You'll always be a thrall."—_

A full-length, glassy mirror stood in the middle of the next room, surrounded by bodies lying as they'd fallen as if from a battle, many of them mutilated and half-covered in webbing. She found herself moving towards the mirror with baited breath.

"Don't touch it, girly," Nek said from behind her. She turned around to see the deep gnome there, crossbow cradled in his arms.

"Nek?" she said. Her voice sounded pitiful even to her own ears.

"Found a way around the spell," he said. "Lythrana and Nalfein stayed, just in case the patrol shows up."

It felt like a huge weight lifting from her shoulders. She watched him sling his crossbow and pick up a long dagger from the floor. "Looks like a shortsword on you, Nek," she said with amusement before turning around. "What is this mirror? It's not showing the reflection of the room." It was just a glossy, black surface.

"Dunno," Nek said from close behind her. Before she could say anything further, the dagger was plunged deep into her back. She cried out and dropped to her knees when he twisted savagely and then wrenched it out.

"Nek," she gasped out.

"Drow always get what's coming to 'em, one way or another," he said with satisfaction before leaning down to wipe his dagger off on her body. "Never did like you, girly. Sorry."

Thraele saw her reflection in the mirror, no sign of Nek behind her. It was identical to herself, except standing and dressed in the robes of a priestess. As she watched, her opposite stepped out of the mirror and leaned down. "I'm the you that should have been," she said calmly, looking every bit comfortable with the Matron's circlet on her brow. "Now die, Thraele."

The wounded drowess hurled herself to the side, grabbing her sword with her off hand as her reflection brought her own blade down towards the former thrall. She fumbled up to her feet, ignoring the agony in every inch of her body. She tried to dodge a second time, but before she could blink, the sword pierced her through the middle, sinking in up to its hilt, piercing through her back. Her opponent was so close that she could feel the heat of its breath against her face.

"Shh, it's all over now," her reflection said, catching her and easing her to the ground among the rest of the dead. The blade slid easily out of her midsection. "No one will ever have to know."

Blackness surged up to meet her and for a second, the world was dark as she laid in a pool of her own blood.

 **Do you feel it?** something whispered to her. **Betrayal, heartache, pain, death. It is all born of power—and power transforms. It will transform you.**

A few moments later, her vision slowly started to return. She could still feel the wounds all over her body.

 **Will you let pain or death stop you, daughter of my daughters?**

"No," Thraele hissed out through the agony, trying to get up to her feet. She knew she was dying, but she didn't have to succumb yet. She had come here for a reason, and she would find it, even though it had killed her—there was no way she would live with these wounds unless Lythrana appeared again and decided to heal her. Somehow, she managed to clamber to her feet and carry on. She covered the wound in her midsection with her good hand, trying to ignore the blood leaking out between her fingers.

The path deeper—edged in black, though that was probably her own vision rather than the room—became a great archway over an army of drow that was legion, every single one of them standing at attention in a giant formation. The moment she appeared on the walkway, a roar rose from the crowd. She could hear them chanting her name. The pain was fading even though her injuries hadn't healed.

Hands caught her as she started to fall and her vision blurred. She closed her eyes for a long moment, trying to get her eyes to focus. When she opened them again, she saw the male drow from her past, the one with a square jaw and onyx eyes. Balanced on his palms was the circlet she'd seen the Matron and her reflection wearing. "You've earned it," he said as he offered it to her. "Be who you were meant to be."

When her fingers closed around it, she felt a sudden surge of electric power through her body and then a plunging fall. Warm, comforting darkness swallowed her whole.

 **You have what we lacked within you,** the voice whispered to her. **Be who you were meant to be.**

* * *

Lythrana jumped when she heard Nek's shout. The svirfneblin took off past her, bolting towards the far end of the room with no thought to the presence of traps. She looked away from the statue she'd been studying to see at the far end of the room a stone throne, carved out of polished black marble. Waiting for them, slumped in it, was Thraele, her fingers closed around something that gleamed.

Nalfein rushed that way, the priestess on his heels. Nek was shaking Thraele as fiercely as he could. "Wake up, girly!" the svirfneblin said urgently.

"She doesn't look wounded," Lythrana said, touching Thraele's wrist to take her pulse for a moment before examining the circlet Thraele had in her grasp. The heartbeat was there, if a little fainter than the cleric would have liked.

It was a band of mithral with gold inlay in the patterns of strange, interlocking webs. It had four small spiders on it, one at each quarter mark of the circumference, each with eyes made of little flakes of black opal. The priestess could feel the magic radiating off it. This was an item of _power_ , something ancient and unfaded by time. Nalfein wasn't ignorant of the buzz either. "That thing is going to draw attention," he commented. "No cleric within twenty miles of it unwarded is going to be able to miss it."

"That's why I brought a _bag of holding_ ," Lythrana said. "Stored in extradimensional space, it should pass without detection. I'll have to ward the workshop against detection before I look at it. I'm more worried about Thraele, though."

There was a groan from their warrior and eyes flickered open. Once they focused, however, there was a caginess to them that Lythrana had never seen from Thraele before. "Way to sleep on the job, girly," Nek grumbled.

Thraele wasn't entirely certain that what she was seeing was any more real than what she'd been through. She could still remember the pain with perfect clarity. "What happened?" she asked cautiously.

Nek seemed to sense something was wrong. "Could ask you the same thing," he said, trying to grin but failing due to worry. "All of a sudden the wards keeping us out dropped. We walked straight down the hall and then the stairs to get here."

She straightened up, expecting agony from her wounds. However, there was not a trace of them, nor any residual twinge or soreness. She felt better now than she had when she woke up in the morning. "We must have passed," she murmured quietly, looking down at the circlet in her hand. It felt almost uncomfortably hot to the touch, but she found that she didn't want to let go of it. It looked different than what she'd seen in her vision, but she knew that within it lay the power to rule. She just wasn't certain entirely what it did besides symbolize an ancient authority. "What is it?"

"A good question," Lythrana said curiously. "May I see it?"

Thraele reluctantly uncurled her fingers from around it and held it out to the priestess. It was for Lythrana anyway, but echoes of her experience still lingered. It was a lot harder to trust them now than it had been before, if only because she was warily waiting for a weapon to be plunged into her body. She watched the noble examine it.

"I've never seen anything like it before," Lythrana admitted readily. "Well, I mean, I've seen circlets, and it has some of the same style as the very old ones, but it has its own power that feels unique. I imagine there will be further rituals needed to unlock its secrets." She looked up at Thraele. "You're connected to this place, which I imagine means you're connected to this somehow. You should keep it."

"Are you certain? We came here to fetch it for you," Thraele said, relaxing slightly. That sounded more like the Lythrana she knew. She kept an eye on her companions all the same.

"I don't mind," Lythrana said, handing it reverently back to Thraele before passing over the _bag of holding_. "Don't get me wrong, I'm incredibly curious about it, but I think it belongs with you. I can feel it resonating when I move it closer to you. It would take a long time and a lot of work to even approach having it so attuned to me. Besides, we're in this together. If you benefit, I benefit."

Thraele wrapped the circlet in the cloth she'd brought and then tucked it away in the bag. "Let us leave this place," she said. She had no desire to stay and relive anything that she'd seen anymore. It would be bothering her in dreams for some time, she knew that much.

"That bad?" Nalfein asked as she stood up.

"It was not an experience we would care to repeat," the former thrall said, accepting her pack from Nek. She had to shuffle her gear around to get the bag stored safely beneath her bedroll, where it wouldn't be disturbed, before shouldering the pack. "We forgot to mention it, but Dresmorlin was with Nalfein's group. It would probably be wiser to keep our distance."

"What in the Nine Hells is he doing out here?" Lythrana said, a little startled despite herself as they started walking. She was distracted enough that she didn't pay attention to the fact that Thraele was walking behind them rather than in front the way she usually did. "He hates the Wilds."

"According to him, he volunteered out of the goodness of his heart," Nalfein said dryly. "I'd be willing to bet that Mez'Barris is less than thrilled with him at the moment and he's avoiding her until she cools down. Goddess knows that's what I would do in his shoes—your mother is a force of nature, Lythrana."

"We hope that is the case," Thraele murmured. "It would not be good if he had an inkling as to our intentions here."

"Rarely do things go like we're hoping," Nek pointed out, taking the lead. He'd noticed Thraele's new caution, but he didn't want to say anything about it. Hopefully she'd be back to normal soon. "You still hearing spooky voices, Thraele?"

"No," she said, relieved that the overwhelming presence she'd sensed was gone. "And we are extremely grateful for that fact."

Once they made it up to camp, Thraele was quick to volunteer to go scout the area and make certain Dresmorlin wasn't sniffing around. Part of it was a desire to be away from the group, part of it was recognition that Lythrana and Nalfein both looked like they wanted some time alone together. She couldn't blame them—it could be quite a while before they had the opportunity again. "Mind if I come?" Nek asked. "Might keep the spiders off to have more than one of us."

Thraele hunted for an objection, but couldn't find one that didn't sound weak. "You are welcome to," she said finally, a little bit hesitant. The last thing she wanted was a knife plunged into her back again.

"Be careful out there," Nalfein said. He had taken a seat next to Lythrana on a fallen pillar, his hand a hair's breadth from the noble's.

"We will," Thraele said before turning and heading out into the dark. She was almost painfully aware of exactly where Nek was at her side.

"That bad, huh?" the deep gnome said once they were a ways away. "You're awfully jumpy."

"We saw many things we did not wish to see," Thraele said. "It is hard to say where memory ended and illusion began. All of this still feels like part of it."

"Ah," Nek said. He checked his crossbow as they moved past a particularly large web. "I'm surprised Lythrana let you keep that thing. I know she's alright for a drow, but priestesses get funny about that kind of thing. Can't help but wonder what the hell it is that makes it like you so much."

"The voice called me the daughter of its daughters," Thraele said quietly. "Perhaps the blood is not as diluted as we supposed, or perhaps it is not a question of blood at all. Lythrana is right—it will take much to learn its secrets."

"Yeah," Nek agreed. He looked over at her thoughtfully. "Glad you're alright, girly. You keep this up, though, and I'll be dying of a heart attack."

She smiled faintly, pushing the memory of being stabbed in the back out of her head as much as possible. "We appreciate the concern."

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it," Nek said with his usual grumpiness. She could hear something fond in his tone, though. "Got better things to do than chase your crazy ass from here to Thay."

Thraele felt her good humor returning slowly. "Oh, and what might these things be?" she teased.

"There are so many I can't even name one," he retorted. "Now shut up and let's find that patrol. You were gone for hours, so there's no telling when they'll start looking for Nalfein, particularly if he ends up distracted and liplocked with Lythrana."

The former thrall sighed. "Just what we needed to cheer us up, Nek."

"Don't worry, Thraele," Nek said cheerfully. "I'll find you a nice drider to kiss. This place ought to be chalk full of them."

"Your desire to assist leaves us underwhelmed," Thraele muttered even though his 'offer' made her lips quirk up at the corners. She'd learned what driders were from Sindyrrith. They did not sound like creatures she wanted to be anywhere near. Her memories of a lover floated up from the depths of her mind. It was new information. Who was he? What was his name? Was he still alive? Did he remember her? Did he miss her? She wasn't certain if that would be good or bad. Odds were that if she had been anything like a typical priestess, it was probably a fling of some kind without much sentiment attached to it. It just made her wonder.

Someday, maybe she would even recall the answers to those questions.


	16. The Name

"I don't like what I can see happening with her," Alassëa admitted, leaned into Malagos's side with her head resting against his shoulder. Alassëa, Malagos, Sindyrrith, and Nek were in private conference now that life was returning to normal, motivated at least by the worry of half the group. All of them had seen the change really beginning to take root.

Nek let out his breath in a huff. "Dunno what you expected, princess," he said. "She's _drow._ "

"So is Sindyrrith, so was Khaless. It doesn't have to be this way," the elf insisted. "Menzoberranzan is corrupting her. It's bringing out things that will hurt her, one way or another. We should have never brought her here."

"You can't force the light on anyone, Alassëa," Sindyrrith said softly. "They have to choose it, otherwise we're no better than any of the Spider Queen's followers. Even if her memory is gone, this is all she knows."

"I know," the cleric of Eilistraee said. "But this craving for power…it worries me. I just don't want to see her hurt herself. I can tell there's something good in her, but if she lets ambition drown it out…" She let the words trail off, not certain how to finish that statement. Nothing good would come of it, she was certain of that. She'd seen too much pain and heartache in the past to ignore future threat of it.

Malagos gave his lover a reassuring squeeze. "She will find her way," he said. "Wherever she goes, I think we can help keep the light alive."

Nek shrugged. "You can take a girl out of Menzoberranzan, but you can never take Menzoberranzan out of a girl," he said flatly. "We helped open this can of worms, and let me tell you—you want those suckers back in, you'd better find a bigger can. Her old memories, her old personality, are coming back. She's not a blank slate anymore. No doubt in my mind that those ruins made it worse. Sin's right. That girl was a noble, and not one like Lythrana. Somebody meant for her to be Matron, and she's got every scrap of that in her."

"She trusts you, Nek, more than the rest of us," Alassëa said. "If anyone could guide her down the right road, it would be you."

The svirfneblin scowled. "Yeah, well, I don't want to make her anything she ain't," Nek said. "I don't like it, but it's not for us to fix."

"Alright," Sindyrrith said. She wished there was more she could do, but honestly, she was well aware that their deep gnome was right on target at this particular moment. He knew Thraele better than any of them. "We remain supportive, we remain her friends, and hope that makes the difference."

Nek was quiet as the others changed the conversation. Out of everyone, he could see the change best. Ever since the ruins, Thraele had been moving carefully around people—even him. It bothered him to see her so guarded, but he'd seen it a thousand times before in every drow he'd ever met. He had tried to do his best to keep her safe and grounded. But once Sindyrrith had told him about her conversation with Thraele out on the road and he'd seen her gradual slide into more and more drow-like habits, he knew that her memories had to be coming back. It would hurt if he lost her, but hopefully he could hang on long enough to see her walk back his way once she'd found herself and what she wanted. For all the darkness he could see starting to emerge in her, he knew there was—as Alassëa had pointed out in her own way—something worth fighting to keep alive.

The deep gnome stood up. "I'm gonna go check on her," he said quietly to the others before heading out into the streets of Menzoberranzan. He'd always resented the control the drow wielded over the city, hated being treated very much as a second-class citizen. But it slowly bothered him less and less, maybe just from exposure. Living in the Underdark was all about getting used to unpleasant things, and Nek was the kind of person who could get used to hanging if he was hanged long enough.

It took him a while to find Thraele, hunting through her favorite haunts in the city and doing his best to pass largely unnoticed. Thankfully, drow weren't generally very attentive to the activities of the lesser races unless they wanted amusement or revenge. He slipped into House Barrison Del'Armgo as a familiar face to some of the guards—it was assumed that he was another servant of Lythrana's, which he supposed wasn't too far from the truth considering the alliance the noble had formed with his friend. He located the former thrall on the top of the main wall that surrounded the fortress that was the House. She was looking out over Menzoberranzan and frowning faintly, not quite brooding but not far from it either.

"Well, don't you look happy," he commented as he approached. It made him feel a little bit better when she smiled a moment, almost reflexively.

"Just thoughtful," Thraele said softly.

Nek crossed his arms and leaned against the parapet on the wall's top, studying his friend. "What's up?"

"Lythrana has asked us to attend a party with her, but at least in her eyes as a guest rather than a servant," Thraele said. "There will be many people of power there. We are…uncertain of what it might awake within us."

"Sorry I can't be there," Nek said. "I'm assuming it's going to be one of those swanky drow noble ones."

"Unfortunately," the former thrall said. "And we barely remember how to be drow. It seems a recipe for disaster."

The svirfneblin waved a hand. "You'll do fine, girly. Just keep both eyes open and watch your drink. There's more people than you think who want you dead."

"Mother told us that once," Thraele murmured, turning her eyes out towards the city again. She could see crowds moving about, falling into the natural rhythms of daily life. Narbondel had ascended to almost its xenith and so everyone seemed busy. The city never truly slept, but it was quieter at Narbondel's death. "That the world was more dangerous than we were aware of. We do not think she meant only poison, however. But your warning is taken to heart."

"Figured it would be," Nek said, dipping his head into a nod. "Sin told me about what you said in the tunnels a while back. About being in Lythrana's shadow and all that."

Thraele sighed and let her hands rest on the top of the stone. She didn't look over at him. "I suppose you will tell us the same: that we should be content and remain in Menzoberranzan, that we should serve." She exhaled sharply. "We thought we had escaped servitude when we left Deu'ra."

"Eh," the deep gnome said with a shrug. "Got to fight for something in life, Thraele, whatever your reason is. For me, it used to be coin. Didn't care who I was following, as long as their gold was good. Then I started just taking the interesting ones. Ended up sticking around. But I didn't come to lecture you—that's for Sin and Alassëa. Love 'em to death, but they do usually think they know best. I figure it's an elf thing, dark or otherwise."

Thraele laughed a little bit despite herself. "We are an elf," she pointed out, amused.

"Yeah?" Nek retorted as he pulled a small cloth-wrapped bundle out of his pack. "Never woulda guessed."

His friend now looked thoroughly amused as well as curious. "What is this?"

"Well, you're gonna be running around with drow nobles, so I thought I'd give you some things I lifted from Myrineyl when I ran all those years ago. Proper drow craftsmanship, even," he said, opening the bundle. There, lying across his palm, rested a platinum ring with script that looked like it was flowing like water as she looked at it and a long, dark, tapered dagger. "Might help you out a little."

"What are they?" Thraele asked curiously.

"The dagger's an interesting one. It's a bane weapon—in this case, elf-bane. Myrineyl had it made for rivals. A wicked blade all of the time, but it always seems to pierce deeper and hurt more against dark elves and their surface cousins. And you're going to be fighting a lot of drow for a long time, I'm thinking," Nek said, passing it over. She drew it from its sheath to examine the slender blade with spiders worked into the blade. "She used it as a sacrificial dagger for a while, too. Bet it frosted her real bad when I took it."

"And the ring?" Thraele said as she picked it up. It gleamed in Narbondel's light and she felt a faint warmth in her fingers.

"It's a two-for-the-price-of-one trick piece. I call it Devious," Nek explained. He could feel himself grinning. "Twist it on your finger to activate it and you can choose what to do. Either it acts like somebody just hit you with a _blink_ spell and you start flashing back and forth between being solid and being ethereal, or it acts like a _chameleon power_ ring: you can blend in really well or cast _disguise self_ at will. Hard to hit or hidden—worked great for me. I want you to have it now."

"Nek, we…we are honored, but we cannot take these. You could need them," Thraele said, taken aback. These were beautiful pieces of craftsmanship and the ring in particular was incredible if what he was saying was true.

"I'm passing them on," Nek said with a shake of his head. "One troublemaker to another. Come on, girly. You're like the tall, elfy daughter I never had. Besides, if you have these, maybe you'll stop scaring the living dark out of me with your crazy shit. Ranting at Myrineyl's people, taking on an aboleth, vanishing into creepy ruins—"

Before he could finish grumbling, Thraele dropped to one knee so she was at his level and hugged the svirfneblin tightly. "Thank you," she said, feeling a thickness in her throat.

Nek patted her on the back. "Take it that means you like 'em." He felt a certain glow of warmth that he would never in a thousand years admit to.

"Very much so," she said. She didn't want to let go of the gnome, but she pulled back. "Thank you, Nek. We…we do not remember all of our past, but we know that no one has looked out for us like this in a very, very long time. We will repay you."

"You want to repay me, do things right with those little trinkets. Dunno what right is, but if you figure it out, do it. Got it?" Nek said gruffly. Thraele slipped on the ring and replaced the dagger she wore on the outside of her right thigh with the elf-bane blade.

"Got it," Thraele said softly.

Nek took her old dagger and grinned up at her. "You're gonna give people something to think about, Thraele. Whatever you do, I'm behind you all the way."

She couldn't stop smiling. "We wouldn't be here without you, Nek. This is…you are a better friend than we have ever had."

"You got to get out more, girly," he said with a chuckle. "There are a lot better mushrooms in the forest. Still, guess I'm better than nothing. Now, tell me about this shindig and its guest list. Somebody ought to tell you who to piss off first."

* * *

Two days later, Thraele found herself wishing she had the dagger with her. Unfortunately, she wouldn't be getting away with armor or a blade. For all their violent tastes, drow nobles tended to keep their parties overtly polite and conduct their murders in a more subtle fashion. Poison was very much the name of the game. She very much took Nek's advice and kept an eye on her drink, though that was no guarantee that a servant hadn't taken the liberty of adding something. If things went very badly, she had Devious. It was undeniably strange to be wearing anything other than armor, particularly a low-cut, almost sheer spidersilk dress. After the comfortable weight of armor, it almost felt like it wasn't there at all. However, the amethyst cloth went well with her eyes and it fit better than a glove after the work of one of Menzoberranzan's best seamstresses. There were certainly advantages to having a friend in a high place. She left her hair long and loose except for a single small braid with a small bead—a _daylight_ bead, also in case everything went completely and horribly wrong.

There was a good showing by all of the houses, but it was Barrison Del'Armgo hosting, which was likely why Lythrana had been pressed into going. Thraele could pick out familiar faces from her explorations into Menzoberranzan's politics. It was a large event: there were scores of nobles and a larger number of Matron Mothers than Thraele had been expecting. The eight on Menzoberranzan's ruling council were currently distributed basically equidistant through the room as if to maintain maximum space from each other—probably not far from the truth. Apex predators rarely liked competition. They would eventually be convinced to endure each other's presences, but it would take some wine and the coaxing of their subordinates to get them there.

Lythrana caught Thraele by the elbow before she could stray too far, her own nerves surprisingly calm. Then again, the former thrall supposed that her friend had been living and breathing this environment for much of her life. "Nalfein is here," she murmured to Thraele, motioning across the room. There was something breathy and hopeful in her voice, even if she couldn't really acknowledge the inquisitor in public.

"What is he doing here?" Thraele asked quietly, keeping their conversation quiet so as to pass below the murmur of 'polite' conversation. It was mostly veiled threats, hidden jabs, flattery, machinations, and a lot of nasty gossip.

"He's with the Revered Daughter," Lythrana said, trying not to worry at her bottom lip as she considered her possible courses of action. "I want to talk to him, but…"

"You may yet have your opportunity," the former thrall said as she realized that Yvonnel Xl'arraz'et'soj was approaching them. The Revered Daughter had disengaged from her conversation with Siniira Duskryn—the two seemed the most able to tolerate each other out of all of the powerful figures present, almost as if they enjoyed their snipes at each other—and was headed their way, albeit in a circuitous fashion so as to not make her movements obvious. Yvonnel was a surprisingly forgettable woman. Few people really appreciated just how much she was capable of. It would be the first time she'd spoken to the Revered Daughter since their agreement months ago.

"Oh Goddess," Lythrana said, eyes widening a little bit when she realized it too. It was a surprise that she'd garnered that much attention from the powerful priestess. Then again, the woman was nothing if not attentive. No matter how secretive Lythrana tried to keep her dealings, it was Yvonnel's business to know everything that happened in Menzoberranzan.

"Revered Lythrana, so good to see you. You've grown up since I last saw you. I do hope you remember me," Yvonnel said smoothly, offering the noble a smile that seemed quite genuine…which did nothing to put Lythrana at ease. "This is Inquisitor Nalfein Zaphresz. I'm not certain if you two have met."

"Briefly and a very long time ago, Revered Yvonnel," Lythrana said almost too quickly. She had to work to keep a smile off her face, an effort in which she was aided by her nerves, in a strange way. "Are you enjoying the party? Matron Mez'Barris put a good deal of work into it."

Thraele realized Nalfein was looking at her with wide eyes more than Lythrana at the moment. Probably because it was the first time he'd ever seen her cleaned up and dressed up to this extent. "You look lovely," he said quietly to his friend, still surprised. Their acquaintance was no secret among the Yath'Abban, so there was no point in concealing it now.

The former thrall felt her cheeks warm, but only for a moment before he turned his gaze towards the noble. Still, a compliment was a compliment. She would gladly take it for that.

"I am thoroughly enjoying this evening," Yvonnel said. They were standing near the balcony that looked over the broad, wealthy, beautiful avenues of Qu'ellarz'orl. It was a quiet corner of the party where few were paying attention—Lythrana Armgo was not known to be someone worth watching, at least not by those who weren't extremely suspicious or paranoid. If the Revered Daughter had noticed Lythrana's anxiety, she didn't show it. "Siniira Duskryn is in rare form and I do love watching the others smolder at Quenthel's authority. It's always interesting to see the tightrope act that Menzoberranzan's powerful walk from up close. How is Durna Thuldark?"

Lythrana raised an eyebrow. "The duergar laird? How would I know?" she said, affecting ignorance. It was unnerving to know that the Revered Daughter knew that at the very least, something was going on.

"Coyness suits you," Yvonnel said with amusement. "I'm actually more interested in your bodyguard here, however. I don't believe we've met, Mistress Thraele." She offered the former thrall an inclination of her head. "It seems to me that you've done quite well since you arrived in our city."

"We survive," Thraele said, giving the Revered Daughter a deeper bow of her head. She knew where she was on the pecking order: lower than the priestess she was talking to, to be certain. In addition, the woman was at least her nominal ally, so being disrespectful could undercut her own position.

"Nalfein, would you be so kind as to entertain Revered Lythrana in my absence? I'd like to interrogate Mistress Thraele regarding her opinion of Menzoberranzan's charming little games. An outsider's perspective is always particularly fascinating," the powerful priestess said.

"Of course, Revered Daughter," the inquisitor said, barely concealing his smile. Any opportunity to speak to Lythrana was a good one. They hadn't had a chance to see each other in person since the ruins, but the letters had still been passed back and forth. Whatever the reason for Yvonnel's leniency, he was not going to pass up the opportunity.

Yvonnel motioned for Thraele to step out onto the balcony with her, and so they moved away from the susurrus of voices and constant surveilling looks of Mez'Barris's many guests. Once they were out on the balcony, the noise served as a veil to conceal their conversation. "Menzoberranzan is a beautiful city, isn't it?" she said with a smile, looking out over the broad streets of one of the richest districts in the area. "But let us conduct our business before I force you to endure my pride in my home. We may not have much time, nor another opportunity since you seem so shy of contacting me."

"We seldom have the privacy," the former thrall said.

"Still, you've done quite well for yourself, and quite well for Lythrana," Yvonnel commented. "I would ask what your plan is moving forward, but I do so love surprises. Nalfein seems quite preoccupied these days, ever reading his letters. What an interesting way to facilitate things."

Thraele turned to face the Revered Daughter. "Why have us do this?" she asked in a low voice. "Why Lythrana and Nalfein?"

"I wouldn't be swift to jealousy, Thraele," Yvonnel said with amusement. "Or you risk having your strings plucked just as you are plucking Lythrana's."

The former thrall was quiet for a moment. So that was why Yvonnel wanted the romance to set down roots; with Nalfein under her thumb, she would be able to manipulate Lythrana. But what could she do to stop that besides break her friends' hearts or attempt to kill the Revered Daughter? "We see," she said finally. That much she could say, though not with a great deal of confidence.

"Everything I do is for the good of Menzoberranzan, Thraele," Yvonnel said idly as she toyed with her wineglass. It was more an indication of thoughtfulness than anxiety, though it could easily be mistaken for a faint worry…by someone foolish. Yvonnel X'larraz'et'soj was not a woman who worried—that much could be considered a universal truth. Why would she worry with the number of contingency plans she had in place? "Something few can understand. Drow are selfish creatures most of the time. They don't always appreciate ideals beyond faith. But I am more here to discuss something else that may interest you. Erelhei-Cinlu has sent a small delegation to Menzoberranzan to negotiate for resumed trade with the City of Spiders. I thought you might find that interesting, considering Deu'ra once held you on the route between here and there. Were you to have a home city, I would certainly consider it the most likely option. They are in attendance at the moment."

Thraele felt a thrill that was something between excitement and fear. "Where?" she asked.

"Speaking with Quenthel Baenre," the Revered Daughter said. "Now, I should return to mingling and keeping the romance alive through distance. Good luck with whatever you decide to do next, Thraele. I imagine that whatever happens will be very interesting."

As Yvonnel left her, Lythrana approached. "Are you alright? Sorry if I threw you to the webs," she said. "It's just…one doesn't argue with her."

"We are fine," Thraele said dismissively, craning her neck to look in Quenthel's direction.

There, speaking to the Matron Mother of House Baenre, was a very familiar face. A scarred, cruel face. A face that had gleefully abandoned her to her fate.

— _"You bitch!"—_

 _—"You've always been weak, bug. Now everyone knows it."—_

Thraele felt white-hot, incandescent rage flood through her body. She was snapped out of it only by a sudden, explosive, sharp pain in her left hand. She looked down and realized that she'd crushed her delicate wineglass in her hand with an audible breaking sound, driving pieces into the flesh of her hand. Blood splashed down onto the floor, narrowly avoiding ruining her dress.

Lythrana's face was the picture of startled worry. "Thraele, are you alright?" she asked, leaving her real question unspoken: _What the hells prompted that?_

"Fine," Thraele hissed out between clenched teeth. Nothing would have made her happier than stalking over that way and slamming her injured fist into that face until she broke bones—whether it was hers or the woman's, she didn't really care—but she knew that wouldn't be an option at a party like this. Mez'Barris's guards would rip her off the woman and drag her out of the area. She looked down at her hand after a few more seconds of glaring and started picking the broken glass out of her hand.

"That does _not_ look like fine," Lythrana said. Once the wound was clean, the noble wove a healing spell over it. "Would you tell me what's going on with you for once?"

"No," Thraele said, jerking her hand out of Lythrana's hold. She wanted to leave now, before she did something incredibly stupid and irresponsible. "We need out. We will be doing…something away from here, should you require us." Without waiting for her friend's answer, she stalked off. She wanted out of this party and out of her life at the moment.

She only made it out of the main room and down the hall before she felt the brush of fingertips against her arm. Thraele spun around, ready to lay into either Nalfein or Lythrana—they were the only two who would dare to follow or touch her. Instead, however, she saw a familiar face from her dreams: a powerfully built male drow with a square jaw and dark onyx eyes. His hair was just long enough to fall across his forehead. He was looking at her with wide, wide eyes and lips parted in shock. "It's really you," he said softly, his voice stunned. He took a small step backwards, like the revelation had hit him hard in the chest.

She felt a pain in her own chest, like someone twisting a knife. She _remembered_ him. Not his name or everything he'd said to her, but feelings of fondness and security and hope came rising to the surface. She knew that she'd watched him go through so much suffering and been unable to do anything and that plenty of it had been on her account. She still felt guilty. The urge to flee was overwhelming, but her pride couldn't quite bring her to allow herself to. What she knew for certain was that if she stayed, she was going to have to talk to him, and she wasn't positive she could take that at the moment. "Later," she said curtly before turning on her heel and stalking away, knowing full well that every hint of her emotions had probably just been displayed on her face.

"Vhon!" he called after her.

Hearing that name—her name—felt like being punched in the stomach. It made the moment feel too painfully real. She stopped in her tracks and heard him coming up behind her.

More softly, he said at the very edge of her hearing, "Vhon, please."

 _—"You have to be who you were born to be, Vhon. You won't be happy with less than that and you can't let them frighten you away. Do you understand me? You can do great things. You will do great things. Be stubborn."—_

"What do you want?" she said, voice harsh even to her own ears. She could feel herself torn between two worlds, between two identities. It was not a comfortable position.

"To talk to you," he said. She could hear a little catch in his voice. Perhaps it was the shock, perhaps it was happiness, or perhaps it was pain. "We should go somewhere else, somewhere more private."

"Will you be missed if we leave?" she asked, turning to look at him. There was definitely something in the way he looked at her, something like an old and invisible wound being reopened.

He shook his head. "I already gave Ahlysaaria an excuse," he said. "She won't expect to see me for the rest of the night. You?"

"Lythrana knows better than to follow," she said. She wasn't certain where to go that would be private. Sindyrrith's house would have her small group of non-drow friends, Lythrana's workshop or quarters could very well have their owner in either of them before the end of the night, and she didn't really have a place of her own. The Well of Darkness would probably be her best bet for privacy, even if it was a bit of a walk through Menzoberranzan. "We should change."

The male drow nodded. "My things are in the guest quarters that Matron Mez'Barris so kindly provided. Where should I meet you?"

"The main gates of the House," she said. "There is a tavern famous for its privacy, the Well of Darkness. Watching words is less important there."

"I'll see you in a few minutes at the gates, then," he said quietly.

The former thrall sighed. She could simply not join him and run, but considering she lived in the City of Spiders now, that wasn't really a viable option. Besides, as much as she didn't want to deal with this at the moment, the burning questions were back. This was her first, and maybe only, chance to find out who she had been. He also looked hurt already, and even though she didn't know his name, she didn't want to make that worse. It would be like pulling away cloth stuck to a wound: painful, but necessary for things to heal.

Having her normal clothes, armor, and weapons on again made her feel worlds more secure. She met him out at the gate. The glyph on his armor was the same as the one she'd found investigating the ruins of the caravan with Lythrana. Seeing it made things start to slowly come together in a way she wasn't really enjoying. She'd always imagined there would be something pleasant about her reunion with her past. That wasn't exactly the case, not with memories hitting her like a brick to the head. It was a strange relief, though, a reminder that the waking dreams were probably not a sign of madness.

He smiled when he saw her, in the awkward way of someone who never smiled much, but he still looked shell-shocked. "I'll follow you," he said.

Their walk through Menzoberranzan's streets, slowly but steadily growing more crowded as they left Qu'ellarz'orl, was quick and quiet. She cut through back alleys and through abandoned buildings to shorten their route as much as possible until they were able to sit down in the safety of the Well of Darkness behind a cloak of shadows and silencing wards. The male drow with her looked suitably impressed by her choice of location. Even as a warrior, he recognized the familiar runes.

There was a long moment where neither of them said anything, sitting across the table from each other and just looking. He was the one to finally break the silence. "I thought you were dead, Vhon. We all did. It's been…forty years…" he said quietly. "Ahlysaaria said a mindflayer killed you."

"One did," she said quietly. "Or killed who we used to be. A name, a life, memories, everything, just gone."

He looked almost pained for a minute. "Do you remember me?" he asked quietly.

"Yes and no," Thraele said honestly. "Not your name, not how we know you. Just that you used to protect. You used to care."

"My name is Vorn Tlin'orzza," he said. "And yours is Vhondryl Xaniqos, noble daughter of House Xaniqos in Erelhei-Cinlu."


	17. The First I

"It's strange seeing you like this," Vorn said quietly as he walked with the former thrall towards Sindyrrith Tuin's house. He still felt almost as if she wasn't real. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to feel how solid she was, as some kind of anchor that could tell him she really was alright…for a certain definition of alright. However, female drow seldom welcomed unsolicited intrusions into their space.

"Like what?" she said quietly. He could see her lips pursed as she thought, an expression that might as well have been her foster mother's. She was so like Khaless sometimes, even without memory, even after everything the nobility had put her through.

"Experienced, confident. You're not a girl anymore. It's hard to wrap my head around," the male drow admitted as they walked. He'd tried to tell her everything he could, but they'd only had a few short hours together. The prompting was stirring things up again, however, accelerating the pace at which her memories returned. "Saar is going to be negotiating for weeks at the rate we're going. A diplomat she is not. The only reason she was sent is because Thandysha wanted her out of Erelhei-Cinlu for a while. We're here in conjunction with Ulviirala Tormtor."

"She's Verdaeth's daughter, right?" Thraele said thoughtfully, the recollection coming to the surface. "Thin face, always smiling, fond of knives."

Vorn smiled. He couldn't help it. He did every time she remembered something on her own of her old life. "That's right. You two used to have something of a rivalry. She'll be exceedingly displeased to find out you're still alive. Not as much as certain women in House Xaniqos, though."

"Like Ahlysaaria," Thraele said grimly. She wanted nothing more than to kill her aunt right then and there. However, that would probably not be the wisest course of action.

"Yes," Vorn said. He turned and looked at her, relief and happiness easily readable on his features. "It's…more than I could have ever hoped for to have you back, Vhon. Even the Matron will be pleased when we return to Erelhei-Cinlu."

The former thrall shook her head. "We—I—can't go with you back to Erelhei-Cinlu," she said. For the first time, a singular pronoun was starting to feel right. Enough was coming back that she knew Vorn wasn't lying to her about who she'd been. It felt truer than she was comfortable with. "Lythrana Armgo is a friend who needs us—me." It was hard to look at Vorn as she spoke, since those syllables seemed to do his fresh and fragile hope serious wound.

"Vhon, it's your home," Vorn said quietly. "We need you."

"You have been fine for forty years," she pointed out. Part of her was angry again, but she knew it wouldn't be right to vent it on Vorn. It was hard to bite her tongue, though. Instead of shouting at him, she focused her effort on talking the way any other drow would. She didn't feel so dissonant that 'we' made sense. "I am not the person you remember. The mindflayer changed me."

"Maybe," the male drow conceded. "But the core of who you are? You can cut away flesh, but the bone will always be the same. Nothing can change that. I know you, Vhon."

"The House abandoned me to my fate," she said hotly. "Why in all nine hells should I repay that with loyalty?"

"It's not about loyalty," Vorn said. "It's about who you're meant to be. You don't have to content yourself with second-best. I know you've aligned yourself with Lythrana Armgo, but you don't have to let her shadow crush your future. Come back with us, please."

"I need time to decide," Thraele said. She could practically see the two paths unfolding before her—stay and help Lythrana, or go to what was supposedly her home. All around her had formed webs of obligation and desire, pulling her every which way. It was difficult to say what she even wanted or where she should go.

His dark eyes were understanding when they looked at her, which eased some of the tension that was collecting in her shoulders and jaw. "Of course," he said quietly. "If you need anything, we will be staying as guests of Matron Mez'Barris. I would be happy to continue answering your questions before you decide. There is no rush. As I said, Ahlysaaria and Ulviirala will be in negotiations for some time."

Her expression softened a little bit. "Thank you, Vorn," she said. Whatever she decided to do, she would forever be incredibly grateful to him for his patience and understanding in telling her about who she'd once been. "You didn't have to come talk to me."

"I did," Vorn said with a small sort of half-smile. "Will I see you again?"

"Tomorrow," Thraele promised. "I'll come find you. To talk, and maybe to spar?" Fond memories of working out with Vorn in the training gym had returned in a trickle over the course of their hours-long conversation. She knew she wanted to recapture some of that old good feeling.

The male drow's dark eyes lit up. "I'd like that," he said before raising his hand in farewell. "Be safe."

Thraele smiled at him before turning and heading into Sindyrrith's house. She was exhausted, but her body hummed with restless energy that she knew would keep her from resting for some time. She wasn't the only one still awake despite the fact that they'd reached the hour of Narbondel's death. "Busy night?" she asked, surprised to see Sindyrrith sitting up.

The agent was bent over the low table in the living room between spidersilk-covered divans, a map of Menzoberran and its surrounding environs along with a variety of other papers spread across every available flat surface near her. Sindyrrith looked up when she heard a voice. She'd heard the hinges on the front door creak, so she didn't startle at the words. "Something like that," she said vaguely. "Jarlaxle had something in mind and I am nothing if not helpful when he asks. What about you, Thraele? I expected you to be at House Barrison Del'Armgo after all the meeting and greeting."

"I…met someone," she said, hesitating as she tried to come up with words.

The use of the word 'I' prompted an eyebrow raise from Sindyrrith. "What's going on?" she asked, setting her work aside. Worry lines were starting to form in her brow.

"I know who I was," Thraele said. She didn't really look or feel relieved. "There was someone at the party who knew me."

Sindyrrith didn't automatically relax the way others might have. "Is this good or bad?"

Thraele exhaled in a sigh and took a seat across from Sindyrrith. "I can't tell," she said. "It feels right, but…" It was a struggle to find the right words. Finally, she said, "The longer I stay in Menzoberranzan, the more I feel it pull me apart. I can't live two lives."

"And you're not overfond of this one, I take it," Sindyrrith said, leaning back in her seat as she studied Thraele. "I can't stop you, Thraele, I know that. But you've _changed_ since they saw you. I'm not sure you're even close to the same person."

"I told him that," Thraele said as her lips began to purse into a thin line. "He still wanted me to return. He said they would be happy to have me back. I believe that he would be, at least. If he were not traveling with the woman who left me to die…"

Sindyrrith frowned for a moment. Then her expression smoothed out as she looked at Thraele. "Who were you? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

"Vhondryl Xaniqos, noble daughter of that house."

An unexpected voice cut through the quiet. "Vhondryl?" Alassëa said softly, disbelieving. The cleric had been just coming down the stairs. "That…can't be right." Her voice had the tenor of someone desperately trying to believe that reality was not as it appeared. She wanted—almost needed—to believe that Vhondryl Xaniqos had enjoyed a much happier life than Thraele's, even if that was a complete fiction.

"Vorn Tlin'orzza seems to think it's right," Thraele said quietly. "I spoke with him for hours today. I don't know what reason he would have to lie…and what he was saying, I could remember pieces of it. Why can't it be right?"

"Vorn is here?" Alassëa said anxiously. She came into the room fully, twisting the ring Malagos had given her on her finger. "I met Vhondryl Xaniqos when she was a girl. I was a friend of her foster mother's." Why would the male drow lie about something like that? There was an easy answer: he wouldn't. "I…suppose it could be true. I never knew what happened to her. We never went back to Erelhei-Cinlu after Khaless was gone."

— _"Keep your elbow up," her mother said automatically, clearly thinking hard while watching her try to draw the bow back. "I did love someone. I still do. It's very complicated, Vhon."_

 _"What is love?" she asked, curious amethyst eyes darting up to look at her mother for a second before she let the arrow fly. It barely struck the large mushroom she was aiming at and didn't hit even near the target chalked onto its stalk._

 _"Eye on the target, Vhon," her mother coached. "Love is a feeling, like something warm and light in your chest whenever you see or hear what you love. At least, in a perfect world. The truth is that love has a nature all its own. It's…like a wild bird."_

 _She had never seen a real wild bird, but she'd seen pictures of them and was immediately fascinated. The surface had such bizarre creatures on it._

 _"Threaten or beg it, and it will still come in its own time. It flies away and beyond your reach in the blink of an eye. If you don't love, it comes to stay. And if you do love, be on your guard. Particularly if I love you," her mother finished._

 _She picked out another arrow thoughtfully. "Do you love me?" she asked._

 _Her mother hesitated for a split second before saying quietly, "You're my whole world now, Vhon. You're the only thing I've ever done right. Of course I do."—_

It felt like she'd been stabbed in the heart when the memory released her. Sindyrrith and Alassëa were both watching her with concern, able to read pain on her face as clearly as if it had been written under bold daylight. "Thraele, if you don't want to talk about it, it's alright," Alassëa said after a moment's hesitation.

Thraele could feel tears flooding her eyes. Even after all these years, that hurt. Maybe it was because she'd never been allowed to actually acknowledge the hole in her life. Vorn had tried to fill it in his own way, but he was a friend, not a father. No one had managed to step in to fill the void, particularly not the woman who had given birth to her. Why would a powerful priestess care enough to even try? "I'm fine," she said roughly, scrubbing at her eyes. "Just…remembering." She had vague recollections of seeing Malagos and Nek with Alassëa there that day, talking with her foster mother. "I think I should go to bed. It's late."

"Have a good night," Alassëa said softly.

Her friends watched her head upstairs towards the unoccupied guest room, both of them looking thoughtful themselves. "She's Khaless Dryaalis's foster daughter?" Sindyrrith said thoughtfully. "I knew I recognized the way she moved that knife around." She looked over to see a thoroughly distressed Alassëa.

"Whatever her past was, that wasn't what I was expecting," Alassëa admitted, looking torn. "We should get her back to her family."

"You really think that's a good idea?" Sindyrrith said. "Whatever Menzoberranzan is doing to her, I promise that being surrounded by a noble family with all the competition that comes with that would be a thousand times worse."

"I…I don't know," Alassëa admitted. "Khaless would have wanted her with them. It's what was supposed to be."

"We long ago deviated from 'supposed to'," the agent said. She could see something of a temperamental resemblance between Thraele and Khaless, though the former thrall was more intense and angry than the version of the rogue that Sindyrrith had known. "Also, she mentioned that Vorn was traveling with the woman who left her to die."

"Vorn is, or at least was, her mother's consort. Do you think—?" the cleric of Eilistraee started to say, cutting herself off.

"I doubt it," Sindyrrith said as she shuffled her papers together. She was done for the night, her thoughts awhirl as she tried to decide how she felt about this new information. Part of her knew that this situation couldn't sustain itself: Thraele would tear herself one way or the other. "But I _do_ think it would be someone within her old House. One of her mother's sisters, probably. The rivalries of noble daughters are intense at best. Striking at each other through any avenue, children included, is par for the course. Though it was an apparently sloppy execution, considering Thraele is still alive and well. I would have made certain."

"I thought you're not an assassin," Alassëa said, though not particularly reproachfully. She knew Sindyrrith's cruel and violent streaks were well under the drowess's control.

"I'm not," Sindyrrith said. "I do what I have to. If I don't have to kill someone, I won't. But if I have to, you can rest assured that I'll be thorough. Thankfully, I don't generally have to. It turns out that there are lots of other ways to get what I want." She stretched. "A priestess I grew up with used to say that people who resort to killing lack imagination. I think she meant it in a different way, but I've always taken it to heart."

"She must have hated you," the elf said.

"We didn't see eye to eye, no," Sindyrrith said. "But hey, I was prettier, and really, that's all that matters. Now I'm going to go to bed like the responsible creature I so seldom am. Try not to worry too much."

Alassëa smiled faintly, slightly relieved and reassured by the humor. "Enjoy your beauty sleep, Sin," the cleric said.

"You should too," the agent said before padding upstairs towards her bedroom. "Malagos might get bored later—you'll want to be rested up."

The elf went red.

* * *

Vorn studied his reflection in the mirror, rubbing a hand along his square jaw. He'd stripped out of his armor and carefully laid it all out to be serviced. He would do that when he woke, as every day. His thoughts were awash in mixed emotions, but relief and something approaching joy—an unfamiliar emotion—dominated the others. Vhondryl was alive, and that was more than he had ever imagined possible. The tale that Ahlysaaria spun painted a brutal, hopeless picture. Zesanna always seemed to accept it at face value, without any sorrow or regret. The only thing he'd found strange was her forbiddance of his attempts to go and recover her daughter's body. Maybe it was idiotic sentiment on his own part, but not being able to do that, not being able to say goodbye and experience any sort of closure—it had been too much like when he'd lost Khaless.

Maybe if he had gone in spite of Zesanna's orders, Vhondryl's mind and memories would have survived intact. That was the might-have-been that tormented him above all else now, the idea that if he had just gone far enough out on a limb, she might have been spared pain and suffering. Still, what could he do now? He took some small comfort in the fact that even if her grip on her past was tenuous at best, she seemed to still hold some small fondness for him. For forty years now, his refuge had been those same shared memories that she was struggling to regain. Maybe she wasn't the same. Honestly, he didn't care. Living in a noble court would have changed her too, albeit in different ways. What mattered was that when they'd talked, he'd glimpsed the old spark behind the confusion and defensive walls. If he had time with her again, a chance, he was confident that he could find something of the old Vhondryl—before the mindflayer, and maybe before the Matron's worst too—hiding there behind the shell.

"Why did you really leave the party?" a cold voice asked from the doorway. He'd been so distracted that he hadn't heard the door open, not that there would have been a knock announcing that presence. Ahlysaaria wasn't the kind of woman overly concerned with his privacy or general comfort.

He turned around. Ahlysaaria was one of the less objectionable women in his life, as horrifying as that was to admit. She was unquestionably one of the most violent and bitter, but the worst she did to him was vent her temper on him in fairly straightforward ways. The snakewhip wounds healed and so did the bruises. It was frustrating to be on the receiving end and certainly painful, but easier than dealing with Jhanniss's attentions, Thandysha's sadistic tendencies, and Zesanna's mind games. He told himself it was better than being a common House captain, but that had felt like a hollow justification to him for a long time now—not that there was a way out except death at this point. "I was bored," Vorn said.

"So you vanished into Menzoberranzan with Lythrana Armgo's bodyguard? I'm sure Zesanna will be thrilled to know you've grown the backbone to amuse yourself with random women," Ahlysaaria said, leaning against the doorframe. Her scarred face didn't look particularly convinced. "Interesting choice of playmates."

"You saw us?" Vorn said. He was more worried that she knew about Vhondryl's survival than what Zesanna would think when she was told he'd been running off with some woman. If Ahlysaaria knew that her niece was still alive, she might try to rectify her mistake.

"Do you really think I care enough to watch you every minute of the day?" she snapped, clearly annoyed. He doubted it was actually with him—as she had pointed out, she really didn't care much about what he did. "No. It came up in conversation with Myrineyl Baenre of all people. Insufferable bitch, but apparently a perceptive one."

"One would have to be, to survive so high on the pecking order," Vorn said noncommittally. "I take it things didn't go well with House Baenre."

"Passable, actually, though Matron Quenthel is being more cautious than I might have hoped," Ahlysaaria said, stepping in. She closed the door behind her. "However, presenting a united front means sitting there and smiling politely like a moron while Matron Tormtor's most repugnant offspring uses that shrill voice of hers to full, grating effect. Air is wasted on that woman."

Vorn coughed to stop himself from chuckling. Neither of them were particularly keen on their nominal leader. Granted, he took the superiority and cruelty of the woman largely in stride, for two reasons: firstly, it was par for the course when dealing with a powerful priestess and secondly, seeing Ahlysaaria and Ulviirala regress to juvenile snipes and petty squabbling was oddly amusing. It was probably all the times that he'd taken blows to the head talking. "Was there something in particular you needed from me?" he inquired, keeping his tone respectful at the same time as he did his best to keep the corners of his mouth from curling up into a dry, mostly humorless smile.

"I know you're keeping something from me," Ahlysaaria said, her eyes narrowing slightly at him. "I will find out what it is. Also, Ulviirala is looking for you. I think she's bored."

"Thank you for the warning," Vorn said. He was a little surprised that Saar had volunteered the second half of that. She wasn't exactly the type to look out for his best interests.

The noble sneered. "I didn't do it for you," she said. "The frustration she inflicts on me certainly deserves some payback."

"Of course," Vorn said with a little bow of his head. His stomach was starting to churn. He didn't want to be Ulviirala's amusement for the evening. As Vhondryl had pointed out, she was perhaps a little too fond of knives. He wanted nothing to do with the daughter of House Tormtor—he already knew far too much about the cruelties of female drow. "I'll do my best to stay out of her way."

"Whatever," Ahlysaaria said before exiting his room as abruptly as she'd come in.

He picked up the small mirror Zesanna had given him for communication and left his room in case the daughter of House Tormtor decided to try and find him there. He found himself a good, out-of-the-way spot up on the battlements, between a large stack of crates and the edge of one of the towers. He wasn't visible there from below with how he was sitting behind the crenellations. He muttered the command word for the mirror. He watched the surface swirl and turn an inky black for a moment before displaying his mistress's room. The priestess was there, sitting at her desk and making careful notes on something. He could have sworn she glanced up for a moment, but it was so subtle that he wasn't certain.

"Enjoying Menzoberranzan, Vorn?" she said sweetly.

"Not particularly," Vorn muttered. He took a deep breath. "Vhondryl is alive. She's here."

It actually didn't surprise him when Zesanna failed to look shocked or drop her nib pen. She was a master of hiding what she was feeling—not that Vorn ever even pretended to know what was going on behind the mask. Maybe she had already known and was just waiting for him to confirm it. Maybe she didn't care one way or the other. "Well, I suggest you collect her, then," the high priestess said in her smooth, unruffled way. "The reactions should be amusing, if nothing else."

"You want me to bring her back with Ahlysaaria? They'll kill each other." He knew it was something destined to end poorly.

"I believe that is none of my concern," Zesanna said with a little amused smile. "But since you sound so distressed, perhaps I will give you a reason to stay in Menzoberranzan a few weeks after Saar finishes. She's impatient—she will leave you. Then you are free to escort my daughter home with a minimal amount of murder occurring on the trip, as disappointing as I find that notion. Is there anything else you would care to share?"

Vorn hesitated for a moment. He wasn't certain what Zesanna would think of the memory loss. "She…the mindflayer did a great deal to her," he said quietly. "Her memories have been badly damaged and many are lost. Prompting seems to help her recall them, but…"

"Something that can and will be dealt with, in the fullness of time," Zesanna said smoothly. She smiled slightly, polished eyes alive with humor. "Besides, she has you there to prompt her. I am thoroughly pleased you have found a way to make yourself useful in Menzoberranzan. Does Ahlysaaria know?"

"Not yet," Vorn murmured.

"Keep it that way for now. I think the surprise will do her good." The priestess leaned back in her seat and considered him carefully, lips still curved up ever so slightly at the corner. "Was there anything else you needed, Vorn?"

"No," he said. "I just thought you should know."

"I appreciate that," she said. "Do keep me informed." Without waiting for a sound of assent, she closed the connection.

Vorn sighed and let the mirror rest in his lap, tilting his head back to touch the wall. Maybe it was as simple as it seemed. Maybe if he could just make Vhondryl remember who she had been, she would come back to him.

He had to hope so.


End file.
